


heart's departure

by tothemoon



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Derealization, Dimension Travel, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Separations, Stargazing, cosmic interference and all that good stuff, so many stars too many stars tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 123,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothemoon/pseuds/tothemoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't fall in love. Because if you do, your existence will fade from the world. This is a warning for your personal rapture."</p><p>Haruka thinks about this for a moment, before shrugging it off altogether. In the face of starless skies and impending doom, the solution, to him, is simple.</p><p>"Well...I guess I won't fall in love, then."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. love is the last thing

** rule one ** **: tell yourself, 'who cares? it doesn't mean a thing.'**

 

"There you are." 

When Makoto finally finds Haruka sitting alone on the stony steps connecting their house, the evening has aged into a fine-tuned night, complete with the frantic chirp of crickets and the wafting of a stifled breeze, weak but still willing.

Haruka stares up from the concrete, away from the chalk-drawn heart between his feet, and right at Makoto, blinking _once, twice,_ to signal, _'I've been here all along.'_ Makoto just smiles, sitting next to his best friend and heaving a giant sigh, or at least, the biggest sigh a nine-and-a-half-year old can ever dare to muster, before looking over at the ground. Haruka just hides the drawing by pressing his shoes together, like a double-sliding door shut closed. 

"I've been looking all over town for you," Makoto says. "Figures I should've come here first."

"M-hm," Haruka mumbles, looking out at the night ahead of them, the sky oddly devoid of any visible stars today.

"Why'd you run off?" he asks.

"No reason," Haruka says, picking at the bandaid on his knee absentmindedly, before shifting his gaze over at his best friend in all lowered-eyed drowsiness.

" _Really?"_

"Really."

Only the most normal of silences comes between them after that, with Makoto tapping his feet in all casual contentment. Haruka just looks back up at the stars he can't seem to see, searching for them in vain before deciding it's not worth straining himself over.

"Does it have to do with that cat you were talking to before?" Makoto asks next. "After swim practice?"

Haruka frowns. "I wasn't talking to a cat."

"Oh?"

"It was talking to _me._ "

"So it _was_ a cat," Makoto says, flashing a small grin. "A _talking_ cat." Haruka can clearly see that Makoto's trying not to laugh.

"You don't have to believe me," Haruka responds in a huff, letting the grimace linger on his face without restraint. He knows how ridiculous _a talking cat_ sounds, even as a boy of almost ten he knows that this isn't quite _normal_ , but he knows he hasn't imagined this.

Today, at about four-fifty in the afternoon, just after swim practice at the local facility, Haruka had received the strangest news about the current state of his relatively short existence, all from a cat in yellow rain boots with a penchant for polite conversation: 

_Fall in love, and you'll disappear._

And, of course, because this whole thing is so ridiculous, because he _really_ doesn't want Makoto to start laughing in his face, and because it's bad enough the cat was wearing _yellow rain boots_ , much less _making polite conversation_ , Haruka decides not to say another word about the messenger's proclamation. After all, he's having a hard time deciding whether he should believe in it, too.

He wants to say _'no, there's no way that could have been real,'_ but it is not everyday at talking cat approaches anyone with such foreboding news.

"So, what did the cat say to you?"

Haruka snaps out of his daze about the talking cat and just stares up at Makoto again, offering a shrug and getting up to climb up the stairs, back to his house for a late dinner and a bath.

"Forget it," he says in response, taking one more look at the chalk-drawn heart and smudging it with his foot, all before realizing that he shouldn't even _care_ if Makoto sees it in the first place.

"Ah...okay." Makoto just smiles. "Well, I'm glad you're safe."

Haruka just takes more glimpse at him from over his shoulder, before walking on without anything else to say.

_Love._

Regardless of things like _existing_ and _fading away,_ Haruka tells himself that it shouldn't matter all too much in the first place.

 

 

**Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5241: The Beguiling Case of Nanase Haruka**

 

When I first came to Nanase Haruka, he was ten and uninterested in the face of impending doom.

I notified him of his rapture candidacy with the usual protocol, using the classic three step process that most new messengers seem to neglect these days. I think it would be helpful to write down here in my blog before I proceed with divulging on this case, considering that many of you cadets still need to understand the finer points of _delivery,_ so please take the time to read this. (And yes, that especially means _you_ , Parrot #347. I've seen you. You're terrible.)

 

  1. Introduction: It is always important to explain who you are and where you are from. Most people do not take well to the idea of talking animals, so you gain more credibility when you explain to them that you are a cosmic messenger. The world is full of different phenomena. Let them believe you (or not.) Tell them that the heavens has nominated them for personal rapture, or in short, a disappearance off the face of the earth.
  2. Inform them of their trigger: Different people disappear for different reasons. Sometimes rapture will occur when you get angry and blow up one too many times. Sometimes it happens if you eat too many pieces of whole wheat bread with jam. Whatever the reason, please make sure you communicate the trigger effectively to the candidate.
  3. Offer guidance: As helpful as it would be to obtain as many candidates as possible, we must be sympathetic to the fact that these people might want to live out their lives. Offer a few helpful tips. Namely, on how to avoid their triggers, if they really want to avoid disappearing.



 

Now, since _that's_ out of the way, let us return to this particular case. 

Nanase Haruka, personal rapture candidate #23561, hails from Iwatobi, Japan. The notification of his candidacy came rather early in his life, at ten, and his trigger is rather _difficult_ to begin with, so I expected any degree of tantrum or childish outburst upon delivering the news one day in the middle of summer. I told him the following:

"Don't fall in love. Because if you do, your existence will fade from this world. This is a warning for your personal rapture."

His response?

"Well...I guess I won't fall in love, then."

Rather bold words for a ten year old. Well, maybe _nonchalant_ is the word for it. He asked no questions, offering no change in expression other than the single blink of the eye. In all my hundreds of years of playing messenger, I have never seen someone so unbothered.

It has been eight years since he's made that proclamation, and my curiosity about such an unfettered boy has never wavered in that time. As I make my way back to the small town of Iwatobi to check up on Nanase Haruka, I will be periodically updating this blog with any developments concerning this case.

Still, _love._ What a terrible trigger to have.

But there's nothing we can do about it, huh?

All we can do, at this point, is see what this world holds for the boy named Nanase Haruka.

 

 ** rule two: ** **follow the law**

 

With another tally mark mentally drawn, Haruka thinks he must have a thousand rules for himself by now.

"I'm sorry, but I can't accept this," Haruka says to the girl whose name he'll never remember, and whose face he'll probably forget in a couple days' time. Her mouth forms the most disappointed grimace, but she doesn't cry or say anything else about it. She just looks down at the envelope in her hand, beginning to smile incredulously at the note's unbroken state, cruelly pristine with Haruka's way of saying, _'I'm sorry, but I just don't care for these sorts of things.'_  

"But you didn't even open it," she says. "Please, just read it."

 _Rule number one-thousand something_ , filed under trivial, forgettable, and unimportant, just because Haruka doubts he'll _ever_ fall in love over a folded piece of paper and a few lines of chicken-scratch handwriting regardless— _never, ever open their love letters anyway._

Haruka shakes his head, following the single statute of his newest rule. "No. Can't."

"What? Is there someone else, then?" she asks.

Haruka shakes his head, because there's no such thing as _someone else,_ and he then thinks of another rule, one he always follows, and one he never, ever forgets.

_Don't even bother trying to explain._

"No," Haruka says. "I'm just not interested." A beat of silence follows after.

"They were right about you," she remarks.

 Haruka already knows what she's about to say next. 

"You just don't care, huh? About things like this?"

Haruka just stares at her for a moment, remembering another cardinal rule, one he tries to use sparingly, for the highest of defenses, and the most maximum of securities.

_Lie, if you have to._

"You're right," Haruka answers her. "I don't." 

And with his latest rejection, the girl just crumples the note back into her pocket and gives a short nod and a conceding sigh. She has a strange mix of resignation and annoyance on her face, like a frown that just wants to give up being a frown altogether. She leaves Haruka not too long after that, shoulders bumping with her way out of the empty classroom.

All's well that ends well.

Haruka just takes a seat by the window, in a classroom that's not his, content to be alone for a little while.

When he's beginning to nod off, an early dusk revealing the onset of the oncoming winter, he wonders, half-asleep, if he'll finally be able to see the stars tonight. It'd be the first time in eight years. _Just a single star._ A small, passing pleasantry in an existence mixed with tally marks and little white lies and talking cats wearing yellow rain boots. Haruka thinks of the last time he's actually even _seen_ stars, dancing across the sky in the middle of summer, and who he was with, to witness such an event—

 _No_. If Haruka has any rules that he _knows_ he must abide by, ones he cannot categorize as _trivial_ or _forgettable_ or _unimportant_ , one so deeply ingrained it's more like a law of nature in his wild subconscious, it's this:

_You cannot think of him that way. You can't. You cannot, absolutely under any circumstances, think of him that way._

The sound of a sliding door shakes Haruka awake from his half-slumber, making him flinch ever so slightly in reflex.

"Haru."

Haruka doesn't even have to look over to see who's calling him. He knows this voice anywhere. 

"Makoto," Haruka calls out, peering over his shoulder to find him walking down the aisle of desks. He pulls out the chair in front of Haruka and sits in it, offering his usual smile and leaning over the backrest of the seat. His eyes stay on Haruka's face, lowered and sleepy from a full day of school and looking for his best friend on top of that, but he still seems glad to have found him.

"Why are you here, of all places?" Makoto asks, in all curiosity.

Haruka shrugs. "A girl led me here." 

"Why?"

"What do you think?" Haruka just responds with another question.

"To confess?"

 _"To confess,"_ Haruka repeats back to him.

Makoto looks a little startled, raising his head up from any drowsiness. "And?"

"I'm madly in love," Haruka says, feigning a little sigh. "We're getting married tomorrow."

Makoto's eyes widen. _"What?"_

"I'm kidding."

"You're too cruel, Haru." Makoto produces this weird mix of a laugh and a very, _very_ tired sigh. "So what did you _really_ do, then? What did you tell her?"

"This bothers you," Haruka observes.

"N-no!" Makoto stammers. "I'm just curious."

"Ah." Haruka will never believe that.

"So...what did you tell her?"

"Hm."

Haruka's eyes soften towards the setting sun outside, away from Makoto altogether. 

"That I don't care about things like _love._ " Haruka just looks over at Makoto again, keeping his mouth buried behind a closed palm. Makoto's face rises up in surprise, lips parting to say something, but the words never come. He doesn't say anything, he just lets his eyes linger on the floor with a suppressed sigh, and puts on the facade of a smile that says, _'Oh. Well, that's completely fine.'_

Makoto does this every time, and it is something that worries Haruka more than unopened love letters or the absence of stars.

And as Haruka feels something start to _ache_ in his chest, a strange mix of tenderness and pain and breathlessness, he knows he must dispel whatever this moment is. He's done it before, dozens of times since the start of their _teenage years_ , and he will do it again.

"I just don't care," he reiterates, in all accidental softness. "I don't." 

 _Rule number six or seven, or whatever it is,_ filed under _to be sparingly used_ , but ultimately necessary, and just a little bit dangerous to all parties involved: 

_Lie, if you have to._

 

**Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5242: On Disappearing**

 

Has anyone ever read the stories about people spontaneously combusting into flames? Or of pilots flying over the Bermuda Triangle, never to be heard of again?

If not, just think of all the countless _missing persons_ posters, and every single cold case, unsolved and forgotten with the test of time. Think for a moment, readers. What do these seemingly random and unconnected events even have in common?

Well, these are just the various ways people can disappear.

Now, most disappearances are not as dramatic as _combusting into flame_ or disappearing over the waters of the Caribbean, but these are the most interesting sorts of cases. Whether one vanishes with the impatient snap of cosmic fingers, or fades away into complete and utter obscurity, slowly, but surely, I will still find any and every disappearance interesting. _Perplexing_.

And I say _perplexing_ because that's precisely what this is.

Because even as a cat of my wise age, I will never understand why some people disappear the way they do.

 

 ** rule three ** **: it's just makoto. really, _breathe and stop thinking about it_. it's just makoto.**

 

There is a certain voice Haruka uses to get Makoto to come home with him, small but heard with all of its soft, entrancing command. 

"Let's go," he'll say, at the bottom of the stairs, tugging the edge of his jacket sleeve, just before Makoto leaves to go back to his house.

"Ah," Makoto usually breathes out, in all genuine surprise.

Haruka will never usually say anything else after that, but he doesn't have to. With those words, and that slight pull of pinched fingers on fabric, Makoto will take a deep breath, nod, and turn away from his usual place at the bottom of the stairs. Without objection or question, he'll climb the stairs after Haruka, steps deliberately light in knowing where they're about to go.

And, _well,_ today has been no exception.

_"Haru..."_

As Makoto buries his face in the nape of Haruka's neck, huffs of breath escaping him with every time he tries to kiss him, Haruka wraps his arms around Makoto and kisses him himself. He counts, _one, two, three_ , before parting from him rather unceremoniously, throwing himself back down on the bed as he lets Makoto peel the jammers right off his legs.

A rule he keeps in situations like this: _Never kiss him for more than three seconds._  

Now, he doesn't even have sex with Makoto all that often, in fact the other boy is extra jumpy because it's been nearly a _month_ since they've done anything, but Haruka has a whole set of rules just for intercourse with him regardless. As Makoto places his warmed hands all over him, full of longing for the smooth touch of his skin, Haruka recites another rule, which acts as both a constant reminder and reassurance:

_Remember: it's just Makoto._

_This is just something that we do._

_There's nothing else to it._

"Mm...h..." Haruka breathes out.

It would've been easier if they just never had sex to begin with. Haruka knows this in hindsight, and he understands how much of a _mistake_ this is for all current and future occurrences. 

The first time had taken place one lonely winter night when they were both sixteen, one of the only times Haruka _swears_ he felt himself disappearing into nothing, and he swore it would never, _ever_ happen again, but here they were, clothes coming off, bodies pressed together.

 _It's just Makoto._ The constant reminder. _This is just something that we do._

If these sorts of things are unavoidable with him, the least Haruka can do is keep things under control.

As Haruka takes the time to unbutton Makoto's dress shirt, he lifts himself off the sheets to meet him for another three-second kiss. Makoto only wants more, though, after all it's been way too long since Makoto's gotten to kiss him, to touch him, so Haruka settles for six seconds this time, six seconds worth of kissing and potential _disaster_ and a trip into the void _._ But he doesn't fight it, as much as he should. He just tells himself that he won't disappear from three more seconds of kissing.

He simply _refuses_ to. 

" _Haru,_ " Makoto says his name, breaking the silence with a whimper. Makoto is good at making Haruka squirm with the two syllables of _Ha-ru_ , and it's one of the things other is always wary about.

 _'It's just Makoto,'_ Haruka mouths without a sound with the motion of his lips, as the other boy digs himself into the cove of his neck before kissing down his body. He makes an errant, winding line of smooches down his chest, tracing down the vague crease in the middle of his chest, lapping up a bump of muscle, and biting softly down on the cut edge of his hipbone. Haruka heaves from the touch, after all it's just been too long for him too, and he knows how sensitive he is to every brush and breath, but he reminds himself to just keep breathing. _Just keep breathing. Just keep breathing._

Makoto lifts himself from the confines of Haruka's bare skin. "Haru..."

"Mm?" Haruka answers, half-coherent. 

"I...can't wait anymore today. I want to... _well_ _—_ " 

"You want me already?" Haruka asks. "Is that it?"

"Well... _yes._ "

"Okay," Haruka answers simply, shifting his gaze to the side as Makoto goes in to kiss him once more. _One, two, three_ , Haruka counts, keeping track, and they separate without a problem after the third count, but Makoto takes the liberty of keeping his face close, closing his eyes momentarily and letting their breaths mix in the stifled air. He swallows hard and peers down at Haruka slowly, offering neither a smile or something sad. Haruka thinks the word for it is _unsure._

"Do you want to face me today?" He asks, in a light voice that rings with hopeful uncertainty.

Haruka looks back at Makoto, staring in all silence, feeling that familiar achiness rise up in his chest again. Unable to form the words, he just shakes his head.

_I can't._

"It's...too embarrassing," he says, like he usually does when Makoto asks, but he knows it's not true. He just doesn't want to break another one of his rules.

_If you have sex with him, never stay on your back. Never look him in the eye._

It's just too dangerous that way. 

"I understand." Makoto just offers a sad a little smile and nods. "It's okay."

And before Haruka does roll onto his stomach, he lets himself linger on Makoto a little longer, while his best friend takes the smallest grip of one of his hands, filling the space between Haruka's fingers with a slow and solemn interlacing.

And Haruka just thinks, with all quiet pleading, like a small prayer aimed at no one, but anyone and everyone at the same time:

 _‘Please, please don't be in love with me_ _.’_

Makoto kisses him, and Haruka lets him break the three-second rule again for the second time in an evening.

_‘Because I can't do the same for you.’_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So this fic was born out of a nagging desire to try something magical realism related (which will become more apparent as the chapters wear on...and spare my soul for trying my hand at another multichapter fic.)
> 
> It will be a tad bit darker than the other two I've written, given the subject matter, but it will also have fluff too! I don't know. I just really wanted to write a talking cat with a blog. Anyway, enjoy! Wanna chat about it? I'm on @asplendidmoon on twitter!


	2. bedside manner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> __
> 
>  
> 
> _Run, before he gets you._  
> 

** rule four: ** **don't let him sleep over.**

 

When Haruka wakes up next to Makoto in the confines of a bed made for one, bodies held close together in their barest states, he establishes a rule he should've made long ago, when they first started having sex: _Stop letting Makoto sleep over._

"Makoto," Haruka calls him in a drowsy whisper, barely audible at all, but the other boy doesn't stir.

It is neither one of their faults, for always ending up this way in Haruka's bed. They might not do things like this often, but when they do, they take their time with it, and by the end of it all it is early morning and all either one of them wants to do is sleep. So sleep is what they do, and Haruka, for an instance of time just before falling right into slumber, forgets about _rules_ and the constant threat of fading away.

But the morning usually catches up with him. At this point, Haruka _knows_ he should throw Makoto's arm off of his back, and he _knows_ he should untangle their legs. He _knows_ he should get out from under the blankets altogether, so he doesn't have to question _how_ Makoto's arm ended up on his back or how their legs ended up so intimately intertwined in the first place.

And he knows, above everything else, that he should wake Makoto up, help him gather his clothes, and tell him to go home.

But he doesn't. Haruka just stares at him across the sheets in a supreme daze, allowing himself to catch the rarest glimpses of Makoto dead asleep. Haruka makes out the softness in his breath and watches the subtle rise and fall of his body, the way he mouth hangs just slightly open and how rosy his cheeks look in his restful bliss. Haruka lets himself linger closer to Makoto, _closer_ and _closer_ to sneak him the smallest of kisses, before he stops himself.

 _No_ , Haruka tells himself. This is why he has devised the rule in the first place.

_Stop letting Makoto sleep over._

Because he knows this is just one of the ways people _fall in love,_ when the other isn't looking and the world is quiet and still, with all the time in the world to pay the utmost attention.

And in all of his resolve to _never let Makoto sleep in his bed again,_ Haruka settles for a light kiss on one of his bare shoulders, letting himself stay against Makoto's warmth for the briefest of moments before getting out from under the covers altogether.

As he looks for his clothes on the floor, he hears something tapping at the glass of his window with sharp, quick taps.

When Haruka looks up at the window pane, his eyes meet a gray tabby cat curiously wearing yellow rain boots. It only takes him ten seconds to throw on a sweater, yank on a pair of sweatpants, and head towards the doorway. Unmistakably, it is the cat Haruka has never forgotten, and he knows this is the time to see him.

But even in all of his urgency, _eight years’_ worth, in fact, Haruka still finds a moment to look back at Makoto. He’s still fast asleep, murmuring something incoherently in a dream.

And in the briefest moment, the only sort of moment Haruka will allow himself in times like this, he thinks, _‘how I’d like to join you.’_

But he doesn’t.

 

 ** rule five: ** **stay on track.**

 

"I can see you've decided to disappear," the cat says, taking off a boot to lick his paw.

After eight years, this is the first thing he decides to say, and Haruka just turns to meet the cat with a frown.

"Am I wrong?" the cat asks. "You looked pretty cozy back there."

"It's...not like that."

Haruka stares ahead, where the light is trying to permeate the blank paleness of the sky. It's the time of day where it feels like neither morning or night, but an empty in-between, and it only wants to make Haruka crawl back into the comfort of his bed. There's nothing to be seen here now, not even the _normal_ cats are out on the prowl yet, and every house stands still with all of their occupants still nestled inside. On top of all of this, the winter has an eerie habit of adding just another layer of hollowness, and it just makes Haruka shake from the lack of _anything_. As he tries to get his hands to stop trembling, Haruka thinks, ever so briefly, that he just wants to go back inside.

Back to bed, head hitting the pillow.

Back to bed, clothes off.

 _Back to bed, next to Mako_ \--

_No, no, no._

Haruka just squeezes his hands into tightly balled fists, staring down at the stony steps.

"He doesn't seem like a bad guy to lose your existence to. I've seen much worse," the cat says.

"I'm not going to disappear," Haruka insists.

The cat just hops down one step, then another, before circling around Haruka in the most curious of waddles. He examines Haruka up and down, giving a small nod before returning to his place next to the boy.

"So, you believe me, then?" the cat asks. "Have you believed me all this time?"

Haruka shrugs. "I don't know."

"I think you do believe me," the cat continues.

"Well, you _are_ here."

"I mean, that's obvious. But I have another reason."

"Oh."

"I think it's because you've felt it before."

Haruka perks up a little bit,more in bewilderment than anything else. "Felt what?" he asks.

"Like you were vanishing. You see, some candidates do this quick _magic trick_ kind of disappearance, like _poof_ , goodbye, but I think you're more of a _slow fade._ One day, you're going to feel so hollow the wind will blow you away." 

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not going to disappear," Haruka repeats himself.

"Do you even _remember_ your trigger, you silly boy?"

Haruka doesn't answer him.

"Love," the cat says, in all simplicity.

"So?"

" _So_ , there's nothing going on between you and that boy in your bed, then?"

Haruka thinks back to Makoto's sleeping face, his reddened cheeks, the light rising of his body in rest. He thinks of his kisses, longing and sweet, the way he says his name, _Haru_ , like a sort of begging that expects nothing in return, _Haru_ , like he's been chasing him for eons, out of breath because he's finally caught up to him, _but he doesn't really have Haruka, and there's just no way he ever will, because he can't, he can't, he can't--_

"No," Haruka answers him, letting the last lingerings of Makoto waft in and out of his mind.

And there's that one last image of him, smiling. Always, _always_ smiling.

"It's nothing," Haruka answers the cat. "We're nothing."

The cat doesn't say anything, and Haruka doesn't either. His hands are still shaking in the cold, but his cheeks are warm with tension against the biting chill.

"Nothing, huh?"

"Yeah."

Haruka might get to keep himself for another day, full in the flesh, but he knows how empty his answers sound.

 

**Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5243: The Slow Fade, Notes on the Boy in the Bed, and the Conclusion I've Come To**

 

Hello all. At about six-fifteen this morning, Japanese Standard Time, I had the opportunity to visit Nanase Haruka, personal rapture candidate #23561, at his residence in the small sea port town of Iwatobi. Many of you asked for more frequent updates about the boy, so here I am to deliver them, to quell any curiosity.

It seems to me, with all of my observations, that Nanase Haruka will soon disappear.

I've determined, however, that he is a common case of the _slow fade._ Those are always interesting to watch, because I always like to catch all the subtle little ways these people start to lose their existence. Sometimes, that'll be when another person casually forgets the candidate's name for a split second, despite knowing them for years and years. Sometimes, the candidate will complain about the lack of stars in the night, even though they've never left their place in the sky. Sometimes, their taste buds stop working, or their sense of smell will be less strong, or they get so tongue-tied they can't speak for a few hours. Ah, the list goes on. I wonder how far along Nanase Haruka is in the process of disappearing. He isn't a very loquacious person, not by any means, so it's not like he'll tell me about faulty taste buds or faded stars.

But I know.

And  now, _how_ do I know he's losing his existence altogether? Well, let us examine who I've coined, _the boy in the bed._

Upon speaking with the other neighborhood cats, I have found that his name is Tachibana Makoto, childhood friend of candidate #23561, current senior at Iwatobi High School, and retired competitive swimmer. He is rated number one in the _Iwatobi Feline Popularity Polls_ , with a twenty-seven week streak that won't seem to break anytime soon. The cats here describe him in several ways: _personable, affable, generous, easygoing, bright._ So in short, based on my findings and interviews, it seems that Tachibana Makoto is what they'd call, _the perfect gentleman._ It is no wonder why Nanase Haruka is falling in love with him. Perhaps he's already there.

Well, no. I might be wrong about this. Being _personable, affable, generous, easygoing, bright..._ those might be nice adjectives to have stuck to you, and you'd be fortunate if you _had_ all of those in the first place, but love takes a hold for the most unpredictable of reasons. Sometimes there's no reason for it at all, and sometimes it's about every little thing and more.

There is something about them that I won't try to understand, at least for the time-being.

However, as I remember seeing Nanase Haruka leaning over to kiss _the boy in the bed_ , remaining just to _linger_ of all things, the last thing he should be doing, frankly, I have come to one conclusion.

Nanase Haruka's affections for Tachibana Makoto run deeper than he imagines. And for this, his disappearance only seems inevitable.

 

 ** rule six ** **: don't get into your own head**

 

_'Why do you choose to be with Makoto?'_

Every fiber in Haruka's body says to run and never come back.

_'Why are you fighting to be with Makoto?'_

And in the silence of things, his mind asks, _over and over, 'Fight or flight?'_

And then it answers, before Haruka has a chance to. _'Flight. The answer should be flight.'_

Haruka looks over at Makoto as class just drags on as usual, watching the other boy suppress a yawn and the inclination to take a mid-morning nap. It's not like the two of them got much sleep last night anyway, but it seems that Makoto's taking the deficit a lot harder on this particular day. Haruka cannot say that he's even remotely tired, though. As he feels his temple beat against skull, every pulse urging _'run, run, run,'_ Haruka thinks he's had enough trepidation for two lifetimes.

Talking cats were enough for one, but his teacher forgetting to say Haruka's name on the roster was plenty for another.

 _No_ , it wasn't even that she _forgot_ to say it. His name had completely vanished off of the roster altogether, nothing remaining but a blank grid on an otherwise full list. It was a name Haruka remembers writing himself on the first day of the term, _Nanase Haruka,_ in neat, blue ink.

He thinks of the blank space, pristine and untouched  as if it was never touched by any ink or white-out, _like it's always been like that in the first place,_ and squirms in his seat thinking about the implications of this emptiness.

 _'Choose flight,'_ his conscience mutters.

 _'I won't,'_  Haruka fights back. _'I don't have to, because there's nothing wrong.'_

The teacher asks a question out to the class, and Haruka raises his hand first to test something out. No one else is awake enough to attempt an answer anyway.

 _'Everything is fine,'_ he says, breathing reassurances into his frenzied body. _'Just say my name.'_

The teacher looks out to Haruka, blinking twice in complete blankness.

"Um, yes... _you,"_ shesmiles politely, leaving empty air for the name that won't come to her.

The forgotten name, a blank space, a gap in thought.

Haruka puts his hand down in all defeat and gulps down the lump in his throat.

_'You're disappearing.'_

"Sorry, I don't know," Haruka manages to say. "I don't know the answer."

The teacher just nods and moves onto someone else without another word, huffing a small sigh for not having to deal with _the boy whose name she has just forgotten._ The teacher had known Haruka's name yesterday, and the day before that, calling on him for various things like classroom cleaning and ambushing him with trips to the chalkboard for math equations. There should've been no reason for her to forget him today.

And in all of this, she will most likely blame a week's worth of lesson plans and general fatigue, and she might not think anything of it when she remembers who _Nanase Haruka_ is the following day, but Haruka knows full well what this _really_ is.

 _'You're disappearing,'_ his mind nags. _'And you know why.'_

Haruka sneaks another glimpse at Makoto, his _best friend_ , the _unknowing culprit,_ and the _mind's menace._

 _'Flight,'_ his mind says. _'Leave him. Don't talk to him. You don't have to say another word to him, for as long as you live. Pick flight. Save yourself.'_

Makoto looks over at Haruka from his desk, snapping out of his fatigue. He tilts his head a little bit and frowns. _'Weird,_ ' he seems to be signaling in all casual lightness for Haruka's stint in actual _classroom participation_ not thirty seconds before, before changing into his usual grin. Haruka can't find it in himself to do the same for him.

Instead, Haruka just looks away and stares out the window, doing his best to feign his usual boredom despite the rumblings in his troubled head.

 _'You're disappearing,'_ his mind says again. _'And you know this.'_

 _'I'm not,'_ Haruka retaliates.

_'You've gotten too close. He's to blame. Run, before he gets you. Before you fade away. You're disappearing, you're disappearing, YOU'RE DISAPPEARING--'_

Haruka rises from his seat in all abruptness, but the only one who flinches from his sudden outburst is Makoto. The teacher just pauses for a moment, but she doesn't take her eyes off the textbook in front of her. None of the other students have turned their heads.

Makoto just keeps his eyes on Haruka. He frowns, more out of worry than anything else, before mouthing, _"what's wrong?"_

And Haruka just shakes his head at him, doing his best to quell the rising distress on his face. In this time, no one has noticed Haruka standing at his desk, not even just a little bit. The teacher drones on, the students are all sitting upright, still as stone. Lead pencils click, pages flip, feet tap, the clock ticks on. But no one acknowledges the boy named _Nanase Haruka_.

The forgotten name, a blank space, a gap in thought.

_'Run, run, run.'_

Haruka stumbles out from his desk altogether and makes his way up the aisle. Makoto just watches helplessly from his seat, his eyes never leaving the other boy.

"I'm going to the nurse," Haruka says, although he knows no one can hear him. Only Makoto opens his mouth to say something, but Haruka slides the door shut behind him before he can hear what his best friend has to say.

Out in the empty hallway, his mind still taunts him.

_'You're disappearing.'_

Haruka kneels down outside the door and shakes his head over and over.

"I'm not," he urges. " _I'm not_."

 

 ** rule seven: ** **sleep it off.**

 

In the school infirmary, the nurse checks the thermometer and frowns at the result.

"This thing must be broken." she says. "It says your temperature is at zero degrees."

"Ah," Haruka breathes out.

He already feels sick enough as it is.

"Well, you don't look too good anyway, so please rest here. I have to go to the other building for a quick staff meeting, but I'll be back." 

"Okay," Haruka says without protest, as she leaves the room. He falls back onto the cot and shuts his eyes closed in all disorientation, swallowing down all the achiness in his throat and chasing out the devils in his head. He's felt lightheaded before, from over-exerting himself during swim practices and running just a little too long under the heat of a summer sun, but he's never felt the bed beneath him spin like it is now. As Haruka tries to regain his breath, as he tries to stop the pounding in his head, he realizes that the only thing he can really do is sleep this off. He lets the silence of the room overcome him and maybe, just _maybe_ , he'll find some peace in all of this--

" _Haru_?"

Haruka opens his eyes to find Makoto sitting on the other cot across from him. He comes over instantly when he sees that Haruka's awake, kneeling next to him and releasing a giant sigh. 

"I haven't faked sick since middle school," he says, more to instill lightness than anything else.

"You should be in class," Haruka says. "You never skip."

Makoto just offers an uneasy smile. "I know...but how could I stay when you leave like _that_? Are you not feeling well? Should I take you home?" He offers his hand out, holding Haruka's delicately, like he's about to break, and _well_ , at this point, it's a definite possibility. He recoils a little, curling his fingers into a small fist, before relenting altogether.

"Makoto," Haruka mutters, just to make sure he can still say his name at all.

"Yes, Haru?" he answers him.

_'You're disappearing.'_

_"No, I'm not.","_ Haruka mouths to himself, without actually uttering a sound. _"It's fine."_

"Haru?" Makoto calls out again.

Haruka just peers up at him, eyes sunken and stinging. He knows that if he wants to stop himself from disappearing, that he shouldn't have Makoto here, faces so close he can hear the gentle rhythm of his breathing, hands held like they'll never let go of each other. He thinks of the rules he can make to save himself the trouble now, rules like _don't let Makoto sit this close to you,_ or _don't let him grip onto your hand too hard,_ but in the chaos of things, he can only think of the one rule he'll never really make for himself.

_Don't let him get too close._

Because, if he has to admit to anything, he wants Makoto close. With every kiss he brushes against him in secret, with every tug of his jacket sleeve, with everytime he follows him up the stairs, Haruka knows he needs Makoto here. As Haruka leans over to kiss Makoto, violating his rule of _never kissing Makoto outside the bedroom,_ taking in the comfort of his lips for _more_ than the allotted three seconds, it doesn't take long for the other boy to reciprocate. Makoto gets up from the floor and sits on the cot, leaning over to meet Haruka again, and _again,_ and _again_.

And as Haruka separates for the air he sorely needs, he knows Makoto has become the indulgence he can't do without.

"Stay with me," Haruka finally says, lightly tugging on the buttoned cuff of Makoto's shirt. His voice is so quiet, and he's sure it's nothing but a whisper, barely even one at that, but Makoto's face just falls apart in all surprise and simultaneous worry and stuttering excitement. He nods over and over, closing his eyes into the next kiss and falling onto the cot to press into Haruka a little harder.

For Makoto, getting to be with Haruka like this for the second day in a row must feel like heaven.

For Haruka, it is only bittersweet.

And as Haruka feels the warmth of Makoto's hand, fingers interlaced, the softness of his lips, as he hears every bit of his nervous laughter, because they really shouldn't be fooling around in a _place like this_ , and as he feels every other sweet sense Makoto decides to provide, Haruka just stares up at him in all wild helplessness. It's a strange feeling, Haruka thinks, to see a face so beautiful, so _at home_ , the very definition of _home,_ in fact, only to be reminded of where it will all lead him.

 _Bittersweet._ That's definitely the word for it.

 _"Haru,"_ Makoto breathes into him.

And as Haruka kisses him again in response, eyes closed and mind raging with all of the usual rules, like _three seconds only_ and _don't look him in the eye_ and _stop letting him into your bed_ , he tells himself a few things, just a bunch of small, stupid things to keep himself from getting completely carried away.

_'It's not a matter of love.'_

_'Because it's not love.'_

_'It's really not.'_

_'I just...'_

Haruka wraps his arms around Makoto and only meets him in another mid-morning kiss, sharing the small space his makeshift bed.

_'I just can't do without you.'_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you get a glimpse of the way people start to "fade away" from their own existences. It never feels good when someone forgets your name, because it is a part of you, and it's just this weird little feeling of "oh, you forgot me." I think that's what I was trying to convey with this little bit of "disappearing," because it's bound to get worse and I wanted to start off a bit light? The mystery unravels...
> 
> Anyhoo, music-wise, I have a pre-organized list of music for writing this fic so it's less random this time around...but I blasted "Calgary" by Bon Iver a lot, as well as "Honey" by Magic Man. Both foreboding songs, a little gloomy, but dynamic nonetheless. (I'm a sucker for music that's subtly dramatic, tbh)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. good days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _It seems that our favorite candidate has stumbled upon a couple of good days._  
> 

**Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5244: Good Days and Bad Days**

 

Good afternoon. I must apologize for not updating lately. I'm back from my two-day debacle at the fish markets down by the local pier, where I fought for supremacy over the territory with a stubborn cat named Mochi. Since that is another riveting blog post in itself, I will leave that tale for another day. Besides, you're all here for Nanase Haruka, aren't you? I'll cut to the chase.

Well, here's my first update on him: he hasn't disappeared yet. Slow fades can take anywhere between two months and five years, if I were to take an average of all the ones I've handled in the past, and it's hard to gauge where Nanase Haruka stands, time wise. This is because I'm not sure _how long_ Nanase Haruka's affections for Tachibana Makoto have existed in the first place. I guess this is why watching him is so intriguing: it's not just _how_ he'll disappear, but that unpredictable _when_.

Now, onto my second update. It seems that our favorite candidate has stumbled upon a couple of good days. When I last wrote, there was a shakiness about him, and I was half-certain he might just fade away on that particular day, in fact from school records it shows he even had to go to the _school nurse_ that morning, but he has held on rather nicely since then. 

In all honesty, people undergoing a slow fade don't have _bad days_ everyday. It's not so dramatic. Their good days come too, days where they show little or no signs of disappearing, where all seems well with the world. As I watch Nanase Haruka walk side by side with _the boy in the bed_ , alongside the beach with palms brushing and hands not quite held, I'm thinking this day has not been so bad for Nanase Haruka. May he have more of these on his horizon. I sense a string of good days for the boy.

Ah, good days. That just might be wishful thinking on my part. 

Because as much as anyone wishes for _good days_ , those undergoing the _slow fade_ will find those days start to vanish as their time runs out. The cosmos has a cruel way of taking the candidates they want, and this often means sucking away the pleasant times. 

And even though I doubt you're reading this, Nanase Haruka, here's something I'd like to say to you, in all cautiousness:

I hope you have a good day.

 

 **rule eight:** **take it in with the smallest doses**

 

_"Ma...Makoto..."_

Haruka muffles his voice in the confines of his pillow as Makoto takes the liberty of kissing the back of his neck, each touch of his lips excessively wet, just a little bit sloppy, and terribly unfocused. Makoto's hands graze either side of the other boy's body, _up and down_ , agonizingly in tune with every thrust he pushes into Haruka from behind.

"Are you...all right, Haru?" Makoto asks in all breathiness. He wraps one of his arms around Haruka's smaller body, using the other to grab onto a hip for better balance. Haruka takes note of Makoto's increased closeness, feeling the frantic rise and fall of Makoto's chest against his back, the light sweat of his skin sticking to his, the sounds of his gasps and groans close to his ear, and decides he is too lightheaded to do anything about it.

"Y-yes _..._ I'm fine..." Haruka answers, letting his voice trail in a weakened moan. _"Yes..."_ He accidentally pleads again, achy and out of air.

"Ha...ru..." Makoto breathes into him, attempting to drag his lips down the back of Haruka's neck in all futility, every pant and sigh causing a new reverberation of goosebumps and shivers on his skin.

 _"Y-yes..."_ Haruka knows they're at a point where the words are nothing but rushed and absentminded utterances, guttural, half-heard begging, poor representations for just _how good_ this all feels. He feels his breathing quicken more and more with every deep pulse, so much to the point where it feels like breathing is _impossible_ to begin with. And then there's the heat. Makoto's warmth, skin gliding against him like a summer sea's wave, every sigh delivered hard and hot, with that constant, simmering friction between Haruka's legs, threatening to eat him up for getting too close, _too close_ , like he swears he's going to melt into nothing. _Disappearing._

But these are things Haruka doesn't want to think about right now. He'd like one day, _just one day_ , to not be reminded of that.

 _Too close, too close, too close._  

And in the middle of his solar storm, enthralled and in the ultimate haze, Haruka thinks _'Well, at least I'm not looking you in the eye.'_

" _Ha...ah!_ " With Makoto's latest thrust, Haruka gasps and holds onto the wall in all desperate impulsiveness, in a vain attempt to retain a semblance of composure. He knows they're both almost there, with how much each new movement and touch drives them both to shudders and the shakiest of breaths.

 Counting today, they've been together like this four times this week alone. Haruka isn't sure how he's gotten away with having Makoto this often without flat-out disappearing already, but he isn't questioning it for now. He just cracks a small smile, one he's sure Makoto can't see, his face caught in a rush of both relief and complete pleasure, lips parted, legs spread, hips raised, breaths pained, _but only in the best way_ — 

" _Al..._ most _..._ " Haruka begs. _"Just_ — _"_

Makoto hears him and holds onto Haruka harder, _digs into him deeper_ , resting his head right on the other boy's shoulder blade, panting and failing to say Haruka's name, almost like he's forgotten how to say _anything_. But Haruka worries anyway, because if anyone were to forget his name, he'd probably never recover if Makoto was the one to do it.

So before Haruka really lets himself go, before he really feels himself get carried away, he lets himself plead, if only through soundless mouthings.

 _'Say my name,'_ Haruka closes his eyes and makes a small prayer. 

_'Say my name.'_

_'Please.'_

"Haru...I'm..."

Haruka just sighs into his last moan as the both of them _let go._ He lets his arm drag down the wall, collapsing altogether onto the sheets and closing his eyes in a rush of endorphins and the case of a quickly palpitating heart, sighing deeply into his pillow to calm his breathing. He flinches just a little bit when Makoto pulls out of him, thinking he'll go up to clean himself off in the bathroom.

But when Haruka opens his eyes, peeking over his shoulder, Makoto is hovering over him, smiling in that way he really _shouldn't_ be smiling at Haruka, like he's won the lottery and discovered a brand new star in the same instance. Infectious and honest.

"You're smiling, Haru," Makoto observes, his voice quiet and sweet.

Haruka doesn't even realize he's left his smile on. He tightens his lips up and feels the heat rise to his face, looking away from Makoto altogether.

"Ah! I'm sorry...please don't be self-conscious." Makoto kisses Haruka gently on the side of the head as an apology. He laughs a little bit, a lot more relaxed than how he usually is after they've had sex. Usually he's overcome with some sort of lingering nervousness, a repressed urge to ask, _'are you okay, Haru?'_ or _'was I too rough?'_ but this time Haruka notices he just seems a lot more at peace with himself and what they've just done.

"Sorry," he apologizes again. "I'm sorry, really, I just..." Makoto laughs and sighs at the same time, shaking his head. "Your smile takes everything out of me."

Haruka can't help but frown a little bit. Makoto should not be allowed to say things like _that_.

"Sorry," he whispers, laughing some more. "Sorry."

In a mix of embarrassment and reluctant _joy_ , Haruka lets Makoto kiss him momentarily, sneaking just a flinch's worth of smiles. He just figures it's just one of those days. They stay a little longer like this, with their drowsy kisses and comfortable silence, taking in deep breaths and humming out tired exhalations. When Makoto leans over Haruka to kiss him again, with Haruka closing his eyes to accept him, they are both interrupted and jolted by the frantic ringing of the doorbell.

Makoto just slumps over in all futility.

"What time is it?" Makoto asks.

Haruka looks over at the clock on the wall. "Four-thirty."

"They're early, aren't they?" Makoto is referring to Nagisa and Rei. The four of them are supposed to be making dinner and watching movies together tonight, but they weren't supposed to be here for another two hours. 

When Makoto really gets off of Haruka, searching the room for his discarded clothes, the other boy just stays on the sheets and lets his sight rest on his best friend.

And again, that smile sneaks itself onto his face, small but still there all the same. Hidden away, but honest.

Makoto looks over his shoulder, nodding his head a little and offering a grin of his own.

"Coming, Haru?"

Haruka nods a little bit, though he doesn't really want to get up at this point.

"M-hm," he answers back. "I'll be there soon."

Haruka just figures it's one of those days.

 

 ** rule nine ** **: pretend you can see what they see.**

 

After dinner is served and eaten, the four of them venture onto Haruka's back porch, huddled in their jackets against the biting chill of the evening. Makoto shivers and shoots a muddled little frown over at Nagisa, who seems much too pleased with himself for choosing this particular venue, celebrating what he has penned "The Spectacular Gathering of the Iwatobi Four, _part four_ ," a series of impromptu adventures aimed at simply spending time with the graduating seniors. After a previous trip to an arcade a town away, a visit to the islands where they once trained, and a designated _horror movie_ night in the theater, Makoto and Haruka had decided a nice night in would suffice for _part four._  

And of course, Nagisa has dragged them outside, in an attempt to _somehow_ have his way.

"Why are we outside again?" Rei asks.

Nagisa shrugs. "Sometimes it's nice to get some fresh air, don't you think? Doesn't it get stuffy inside for you guys? All that hot pot made the room too steamy."

"We could've opened a window," Rei asserts. "That would've been the easiest solution."

Makoto crosses his arms and shakes his head, more to expel his shivers than anything.

"And it's _warm_ inside, Nagisa." Makoto asserts.

Nagisa just shrugs and shows a small pout. "Oh, whatever." He turns to Haruka. "What about you, Haru-chan?"

"I'm fine," Haruka says, tucking his mouth into the collar of his hoodie, breathing in the warm air trapped in the fabric. He has to admit his ears are cold, though, even if it's not out loud. 

"See?" Nagisa looks over at Rei and they start bickering in the way they always bicker, mixed in with laughs, teases, and technical jargon.

Makoto just laughs and scoots a little closer to Haruka on the back deck, shoulder to shoulder in keeping a comfortable distance. Makoto takes his scarf off and offers it up to Haruka, but he shakes his head to refuse it; nonetheless, Makoto offers a small sigh and puts it on him anyway. He smiles at Haruka, probably thinking something like, _'nice and warm, huh?'_ while Haruka just blinks up at him, still tender from their afternoon together, rosy-cheeked and slightly sore. Makoto's cheeks are pink in the low light too, a face just begging to be kissed, but Haruka refrains and settles for shuffling a little closer next to him.

"You're still cold," Makoto observes, with the smallest smile.

Haruka just leans his head against Makoto's shoulder, too stubborn to admit that he is.

"See, Nagisa-kun?" Rei shouts. "Look how cold Haruka-senpai is! He's using Makoto-senpai as shelter! Let's just go inside already!"

Nagisa is unwilling, crossing his arms. "No, we can't!"

"And why not?!" Rei argues back.

"Well...I wanted to keep it a surprise, but I wanted to see the stars. There's supposed to be a small meteor shower," Nagisa says sincerely, if not a little shyly. He looks up at the sky. "It's supposed to start soon, so—ah, wait, there's one!" He traces his finger along the sky excitedly, and Haruka looks up slowly, thinking, _'maybe today will be the day,'_ peering up only to see the usual darkness, a deep-dark blue dressed only by the haziness of distant street lamps.

It's an empty sight, and one that Haruka is too used to.

Rei points, too. "There's another!" He clasps his hands together, presumably to make a wish.

Nagisa snickers. "That's four for me. Four wishes in a single day? I must be lucky."

Haruka continues to stare up, just for the sake of staring. It's not like he can even see what the others are seeing, but he pretends for the sake of the rest of _the Iwatobi Four_. He sighs a little bit, and Makoto suddenly grabs his hand when he spots a star of his own. He points up, both of them turning to face each other, but that smile fades right off his face when he takes a look at the other boy. Rei and Nagisa have run off to a darker spot on the property to get a better look at the sky, and Makoto just grips onto Haruka's hand harder.

"Haru?" he asks, in all worry. "What's wrong?"

Haruka frowns. He wonders if that face is that easy to read today, or if it's just because it's _Makoto_ that's looking at him.

"Nothing," Haruka says.

"Are you sure?" Makoto asks again.

Haruka just nods, offering a small smile, slightly forced.

"The stars are nice," Haruka lies, but it's obvious Makoto doesn't take comfort in that answer. He doesn't press on, though, and just sneaks a secret kiss on the side of Haruka's head. 

"Yeah," Makoto still looks bothered, but he puts on a smile for Haruka nonetheless. "They are."

And with that, he gets up from his seat on the back deck, hands unlinking from Haruka's.

"Makoto," Haruka can't help but call out, even if his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I'll be back," he says, abruptly. "Um...yeah, I'll be back!"

"What? Hey, Mako-chan, where are you going?" Nagisa asks, marching back to where Haruka and Makoto were sitting.

"Makoto-senpai!" Rei yells, too.

Haruka just watches his best friend slide the door closed behind him, without another word, rushed and frenzied like he has somewhere to be.

"Where is he going, Haruka-senpai?"

Haruka shakes his head. "I don't know." And for once, he _really_ doesn't.

And he just can't help but think, given his unusual circumstances, given the propensity for _fading away_ and for having people _fade away_ from him:

_'Come back soon.'_

 

 ** rule ten ** **: don't worry.**

 

Haruka knows it's stupid for him to worry like this, to the point where he has found himself waiting at the top of the stairs for Makoto to return. It has begun to snow lightly, the type that covers everything in paper-thin frost, delicate and easily melted by the morning sun. He brushes off his shoulders and looks down at the time, where it ominously reads, _one-thirty_ , one-thirty in the _morning_ , to be precise, and wonders if he should just go to bed without hearing from him.

And as he stares down at the concrete, snow covering the stony steps he's sat on for years, he takes another deep sigh and reminds himself, over and over, like he has since Nagisa and Rei left his house for the night, of one small thing. 

_He hasn't forgotten you._

Haruka stares ahead at the darkness, snow falling from the sky that's long been dead to him. He wonders if he could just have one day that was completely good, not just _better than usual_ , or _not completely terrible_. Haruka thinks that if he could just have one day like this, _one_ out of how many days he has left, one where he didn't have to worry about _disappearing_ or _fading_ from the memory of his best friend, he'd be satisfied. 

Because as much as he tells himself that he doesn't need Makoto to have a _good day_ , he can't completely say he's not a big part of the reason, too.

He sighs and mouths the words, cold and shaking. _'He hasn't forgotten you.'_ His lips are probably blue by now.

As Haruka gets up from his seat at the top of the stairs and turns away to go back inside his house, the voice he'd know anywhere calls his name.

"Haru," Makoto breathes out, like he's been searching for Haruka for years and years.

Haruka looks over his shoulder and waits before Makoto reaches him at the top of the stairs before turning to face him. Makoto stays a couple of steps below Haruka with an arm suspiciously placed behind his back.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Makoto says with a little smile. "Nagisa and Rei must be a little mad with me too, huh?"

Haruka shrugs. "Nagisa says you can make it up to him with another horror movie night." He tries to say as casually as he can.

Makoto laughs a bit. "Guess I deserve that."

Haruka just blinks away the snow getting on his eyelashes. Silence washes over them, appropriate for snowfall in the earliest part of the morning.

"Have you been waiting out here for me, Haru?" Makoto takes one of Haruka's ice-cold hands, holding on firmly and letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry." He apologizes again. "I shouldn't have taken so long."

"It's okay," Haruka responds, but he thinks, ' _Where did you even go?'_

Makoto digs into his pocket and produces a lighter, putting it in Haruka's palm. He then shows what he's been hiding behind his arm: two unlit sparklers, a rarity for the likes of winter, unused and delicately held between his fingers. He hands one to Haruka, saving the other for himself.

"Will you light them?" Makoto asks.

Haruka frowns, wondering how long two sparklers could possibly last now. He glimpses up once more at the dark canvas of sky, blank with nothingness, before following through with Makoto's request. With a flick of the lighter, he lights Makoto's first, before letting Makoto light his. In the faded light, flickering and small, Haruka keeps his eyes on Makoto, watching him ascend the stairs to meet him. Their free hands gravitate towards each other, lingering until they're held again, like it's their natural state, and they get close enough to the point where Haruka knows he'll have to lean in to kiss him at some point.

"You looked...upset before," Makoto explains. "When we were looking at the stars."

Haruka can't even try to deny it, but he had just hoped that Makoto wouldn't notice too hard in the first place. Of course, he is proven wrong, like he's _always_ proven wrong when it comes to Makoto.

"And I don't know if this will solve anything, you don't have to tell me what's wrong, or if there's anything _wrong_ to begin with, but... _well_ , here." Makoto offers a smile. "Here we are."

"Here we are," Haruka repeats after him in a murmur, without meaning to.

"With whatever you were thinking about, I just wondered how many shooting stars it made you miss."

Haruka just opens his mouth to say something that will never come. He thinks there is no possible way to tell Makoto something like, _'I haven't seen a single star in eight years,'_ or better yet, _'I'm disappearing.'_

_'I’m disappearing because I can't keep away from you.'_

_'Because I...'_

"So I brought a couple of them to you," Makoto says. "We can have our own, even if it's just for a little while."

_'Well.'_

Haruka lifts himself on his toes and kisses Makoto's pink cheek, brushing away the snow and staring up at him, sparklers already at half their lifespan, snow still drifting onto the ground with little urgency. Makoto sighs again and leans over to kiss Haruka again, letting him stay past the count of three. Haruka just lets Makoto kiss him _again_ and _again_ , the soft plushness of his lips warm and sweet for the frigid conditions, a gentle reprieve from the intrusive landing of snow.

And as they separate for air, sparklers almost out of life, Makoto smiles at him once more, the kind of smile that shows no sign of saying, _'I've forgotten you.'_ His eyes lower, smile fading just a little when their eyes lock onto each other. He opens his mouth to say something, and Haruka knows just _exactly_ the words Makoto wants to use, because it’s been on the tip of both their tongues for a long time. But Haruka knows he can’t let those utterances slip out. The words should never be said.

Not if Makoto wants to have more days with him, good or bad or anything in between.

So, in a fleeing attempt to save the both of them, to preserve whatever’s left of this _good day_ , Haruka just kisses him again before Makoto can say anything.

_‘Please, please don’t say it.’_

And as Haruka parts himself from the kiss, he feels his chest rise up, frenzied and dying to spew the words out himself, before it constricts and sinks like falling snow, or the dying spark off a fading firework.

Makoto just smiles at him, understanding with a comfortable sullenness. He knows the words are not meant to be said. He settles for gripping Haruka’s hand harder, which the other boy reciprocates without a problem. Haruka knows he should at least give him that.

“Let me take you home,” Makoto says in an almost-whisper, even though home is but a few steps away.

“Okay,” Haruka answers him, following after him on the snow-dusted path.

And as the last of their sparklers go out, the last bit of light in the stilted winter morning vanishing from under them, Haruka thinks and half-pleads to whoever might be listening—to any talking cat in yellow rain boots, to the heavens, to any deity, anyone who might be listening, really—

_‘Let me have more days with him.’_

_‘Good, bad, whatever it is.’_

‘ _Just let me be with him.’_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Here's the next chapter, and I don't really have much to say about it. (Mostly because I'm supposed to be writing a paper and not...uploading fic. So I should get to that.)
> 
> ANYWAY. If you noticed an abundance of fours in this chapter...well, I'll leave that to you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Also, music-wise, it's been a non-stop loop of Bon Iver, particularly "Blindsided." For smutty scenes, It's been anything by The Weeknd. 
> 
> OKAY, until next time!!


	4. the question of letting go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _"I just have this feeling like...I'm losing you, somehow."_  
> 

**rule eleven: remind yourself, 'you'll have to let go at some point.'**

 

In the morning, Haruka wanders into the bathroom, stretches away the knots in his back, and pulls Makoto's shirt over his head. He lightly presses down on the fresh hickeys on his neck before grazing over the less sensitive ones on his chest, wondering how someone as gentle as Makoto can even leave so many to begin with. He sighs about it, deciding that he doesn't really mind them. He just imagines how each hickey got there in the first place, with Makoto's lips dragging along each point on his skin.  
  
Haruka shakes his head, showing a little frown for himself. It's much too early in the morning to latch onto intimate thoughts like this.  
  
With Makoto still asleep in the other room, _the boy in his bed_ , Haruka decides he has the time to take a quick bath, some time alone, before having to get ready for school. With the water faucet turned on and water quickly filling the tub, Haruka sits on the edge of the porcelain and breathes in the smell of fresh steam, relaxed and still drowsy enough to fall asleep.  
  
Despite his much-wanted time alone, he has to resist every urge to crawl back into his bedroom and press himself next to Makoto again. Because after all, this is a new day. Another day to fight off _fading away_ , an unwanted disappearing act. Starting his morning off with extended cuddling time won't help his efforts.

"Haru," Makoto's voice calls from the hallway.

So much for alone time.

There is a knock on the wall and Makoto's head comes peeking through the doorway, and it's obvious that he has just woken up, too. His hair is still a mess, brown strands sticking up everywhere, and he's yawning in small doses, trying his best to subdue his heavy sighs.

"Ah...you're not wearing your swimsuit this morning," Makoto says, looking away in a momentary bout of shyness.

Haruka just realizes he isn't wearing his usual pair, but he shrugs it off and turns his attention to wafting his hand through the water. It feels oddly light, like he's swatting through empty air, and he figures he just needs to wait for the tub to fill up a little more.

"I forgot," Haruka says. "Does it matter?"

Makoto's cheeks grow red and he shakes his head. He offers the first smile of the day, bright enough to make up for his lack of his usual, _'good morning, Haru-chan,'_ and notices the hickeys all over Haruka's body. He sighs at the sight of them and Haruka just looks down for a moment before peering back up, blinking and blank-faced.

"I left a lot of them this time," Makoto observes with a small frown, going over from the doorway and crouching in front of Haruka, taking his hand and laying a kiss right on the hickey under his collarbone.

"You bite hard when you get into it," Haruka remarks. He traces his index finger over the smaller ones he's left at the base of Makoto's neck, thinking, _'I can do the same,'_ and he starts to think how hickeys feel oddly possessive, especially when they've both left them on each other.

"I'm sorry," Makoto laughs a bit. "I'll be more careful next time."

Haruka lowers his eyes. "You say that every time."

Makoto just places a delicate grip on Haruka's neck, fingers brushed over the most tender bruise under the side of his chin, and kisses him. Haruka quietly reciprocates and they part from each other shortly after, stares kept in tact with faces still up-close. Makoto sneaks in one more kiss on Haruka's forehead before getting up altogether.

"Anyway...I came in here to get my shirt back. I should head back home and get ready for school."

Haruka nods. "Okay."

"And I'll pull you out in about thirty minutes. I put your uniform on your bed already, too."

"Thanks," Haruka answers absentmindedly as he skims his hand through the water again. It still feels like nothing, with no ripples or small waves to be had. At this point, he knows there's something wrong, but he can't show any sign of panic now. There's no point in having Makoto worry, too. It's too early for that.

However, Haruka can't help but think: _what a way to start the day._

"You know..." Makoto starts, out of their usual silence.

Haruka looks up at him. "Hm?"

"How are we even going to go swimming later? With all of our hickeys? People will wonder," Makoto says, in all exasperation, slipping his shirt on.

Haruka shrugs. "No need to say anything."

"Ah, well, I guess it'll be dark anyway."

"Mhm," Haruka says again. "See you soon."

"Yeah," Makoto says, though it doesn't really seem like he wants to leave. Haruka looks down and realizes that Makoto is still holding his hand. In what feels like instinct by now, a bad habit he needs to break, Haruka grasps onto his hand a little tighter. The water might be giving him nothing today, but he can still feel the hardness of Makoto's finger bones, the slight roughness of the skin on his palm. He stays like this for a couple of moments, just holding his hand, before he lets go.

In that instant, even though it seems much too early to have to do this, he devises another rule for himself.

_You'll have to let go at some point. You can't hold onto him forever._

Haruka knows this. Because at some point, the grasp of Makoto's hand will feel like nothing, too.

Makoto just steals a couple of smiling glances on his way out the door. There's no doubt that he's still riding off the high of their good days, ecstatic over all the nights slept over, all the extended kisses, all of their recent time together in his bed, but this is the type of excitement that Haruka cannot let himself feel. If he ever does, it's fleeting, like a smile wiped off instantly, or the thin coating of late-winter snow.

"Ah, wait," Makoto calls after him once more. "There was something I forgot to say to you."

"Hm?"

"Good morning, Haru," Makoto says, with a voice appropriately soft for this time of day.

Haruka tries to compose a smile, the same he accidentally let himself show yesterday, but he can't will himself to go through with it. He just feels the air rise up in his lungs and leave in a sharp, short breath, but he does manage to say, "good morning" back. Makoto leaves with a smile but without another word, his steps down the hallway creaky and loud.

"Good morning," Haruka says again to himself. He certainly hopes it will be.

With Makoto gone, Haruka makes his way into the bath in an effort to forget about _disappearing_ , sitting down and realizing that the tub still feels empty even fully filled. He tries to break the surface of the water, where, once again, he doesn't cause the slightest ripple, like a ghost passing through a sheet of glass. There is no change in the water level when he stands and sits in the tub, no movement, no stray drops sliding off his skin.

In short, the water doesn't even bare it's usual fangs to attack. It doesn't acknowledge Haruka at all.

And in all of his quiet fear, he just brings his knees to his chest, huddling to himself in the emptiness of a cold and empty bathroom. The only comfort he has is the fading warmth from the hand just held. He holds it against his face, pressing his forehead against the knobs of his knees and shaking his head over and over.

 _You'll have to let go some point._ Because either way, whether Haruka chooses to fade away or stay, letting go is the only option for him.

Option One: Stay in this world and let go of your best friend. Leave him behind.

Option Two: Fade away from existence, and don't think your limited days with him are anything else but that. Limited. Watch every memory he has of you turn into nothing. Let go of the idea that you might have a future with him.  
  
Haruka weighs the two options over and over in his head.

 _Stay. Fade away. Stay. Fade away._  
  
And he realizes, at the start of this new day, that it all just feels like losing.

 

**rule twelve: don't keep mementos.**

 

"Haru."  
  
Makoto calls his name, his voice far-off like Haruka's already left.  
  
When Haruka wakes up on Makoto's shoulder, the train lurching onward towards Samezuka, he finds that the sun is almost done setting and that the car is only half-full with other passengers. Nagisa and Rei are chatting about something Haruka can't quite make out right away, with voices garbled like they're holding an entire conversation underwater, but he tells himself it's because he's still trying to really wake himself up from his nap.  
  
When Haruka lifts himself off of Makoto's shoulder, he snaps into clarity and realizes what's going on: Nagisa is talking about his new Polaroid camera, pointing it out the window and attempting to take a picture of a bug on the pane. Rei, as usual, is scolding him to spend his energy taking pictures of more worthwhile things and Makoto is just looking on, content to be in everyone's company.  
  
"Let's get Mako-chan. I need a picture of Mako-chan!" Nagisa says.  
  
Makoto sits up in his seat, a little more alert than before. "Hey, what about Haru?"

Nagisa frowns. "Didn't I just say _Haru-chan_ , too?"

"I'm positive that you did," Rei answers. "You know, it's been a long day for everyone. You two, get together."

"Ah...all right." Makoto relents.

"Smile!"

In a daze over his recent sleep and the forgotten name, Haruka just lets Makoto inch a little closer as the flash goes off. The light surprises Haruka and makes him wince. Nagisa looks at the blank photo, resting it on his lap.

"Now we wait." Nagisa smiles at the both of them. "I need a picture before the two of you go your seperate ways, you know?"

"What?" Haruka asks.

"You know...for school?" Nagisa asks. "Do you need to nap some more, Haru-chan?"

"Class was really boring for the third years today." Makoto laughs. "I wouldn't blame Haru for being disoriented." He stares ahead, a little sigh leaving his system. It's clear he doesn't want to talk about going their _separate ways_ , either, even if that only means college for him.

"It'll be so weird...thinking of you guys not being together," Nagisa continues. "Tokyo and Fukuoka aren't exactly close."

Haruka glances over at Makoto. He has the type of smile on his face that wants to crumble right off his lips altogether, wavering dangerously close into grimace territory with every twitch.

 _'It's for the best,'_ Haruka tells himself. Of course it is. He knows that being alone with Makoto in Tokyo would be nothing short of detrimental. He'd disappear as soon as he dropped the first moving box.

And that's only if he can even make it to moving day in the first place.

"I'll still..." Makoto starts, before stopping himself. "I..."

"You'll what, Makoto-senpai?" Rei asks.

"Oh, um...never mind." Makoto tries to mask his discomfort with a small laugh, but he's probably aware of just how transparent he's being. He looks over at Haruka, and the instant their faces make mutual contact, his smile really does fade off his face. The other two don't notice, too busy staring at the developed photo. Rei lifts his glasses and squints into a frown.

"Nagisa-kun, you need to practice taking pictures. You only got Makoto-senpai in this shot."

Nagisa clicks his tongue. "I am so sure I got Haru-chan, too. This darn thing is broken." He sighs, putting the camera back in his bag. "But I'll get a better picture later...I think we're almost at the station."

And with a sweet smile, Nagisa just slips the picture into Haruka's hand without another word about it.

"A-ah, Nagisa, Haru doesn't want that..." Makoto waves his hands away.

Haruka realizes that Makoto's not even looking into the camera, in fact his eyes are directed towards the edge of the photo, at the empty space where Haruka should be sitting. Makoto has the most peaceful smile on his face, the type he only saves for Haruka like a poorly-kept secret.

Gripping the picture in his hand, he is reminded of the best things: near-empty train cars, glowing sunsets, and Makoto's smile.

And then, naturally, he thinks of the _bad_.

The fact that he's not in the picture with Makoto, his existence wiped out altogether from the film, only reminds him that near-empty train cars all fill up at some point, that sunsets turn into night by a certain hour, and that smiles fade away by the slightest provocation. Everyone and everything lets go at some point. With this, Haruka knows he should drop the picture gripped in his hand, and that mementos are _useless_ , probably even _dangerous_ at this point, but he doesn't.

Quietly, Haruka just slips the picture into his pocket. It's just one of the things he has to let himself keep.

Because as he looks out the window, at the subdued and half-asleep sky, Haruka figures that no god or deity or whatever celestial force up above could possibly punish him for something so insigificant.

"I'm keeping this," he tells Makoto, just as the train comes to a complete stop.

 

**rule thirteen: just swim.**

 

When Haruka first dips his foot into the pool, the water cool and just a bit nippy, he feels nothing but immense relief.

"Hey, come on guys!" Rin calls from the other side of the pool, by the locker room door. "We're not swimming until I get my guys, too!"

"Coming!" Makoto answers Rin back.

Makoto gets up from Haruka's side at the fourth lane and offers the usual hand to hoist Haruka up, accompanied by that normal smile of his. No, it must be a little more _exuberant_ than normal, Haruka thinks, a smile out of relief for the hickeys have somehow disappeared off their skin, every deep and purpled bruise, all in the expedited course of ten hours.

Makoto calls it a miracle. Haruka just thinks it's another bad sign.

"I'm staying here," Haruka says. He notices it takes a little more effort for him to actually kick through each wave, like the water has gotten denser since he could last feel it, but he chalks this up to wear and tear of a general day's fatigue.

"It _has_ been awhile since you've gotten to swim," Makoto muses. "Get your head start. I'll distract the others." He holds an index finger up to his lips for the tiny secret he's keeping, laughing just a bit before running off to join the rest of the boys in the other room.

Haruka watches the last glimpse of Makoto disappear through the locker room door. He hops into the water, letting the cool expanse envelop his entire body like he usually does, breaking through the initial chill and bite of a pool barely heated for winter. He reemerges, taking a deep breath and hanging onto the wall. He lets a little pool water collect in his cupped palm, dropping it and scooping it up a couple of times before deciding that everything is in working order. He tells himself that this morning was a fluke.

"Just swim," he tells himself. Forget about the nonexistent hickeys, the forgotten name, the botched photograph, disappearing, and most importantly, _Makoto_.

Just swim.

He kicks off from the wall and cuts through the water with his usual ease, until he notices each subsequent stroke takes more and more out of him. With the water growing denser, thicker, Haruka himself feels like an anchor, too. When he finds himself completely submerged, unable to grab onto the floating lane line, he knows he is only swimming to the bottom. He stops, desperately trying to swim up from the deep end, but he is only pulled down, again and again and _again_.

The water has welcomed him as a false friend, only to attack and drag him under.

Or maybe it's attacking because it doesn't recognize Haruka at all.

Haruka begins to feel the last bit of air leave his lungs, sputtering out in violent coughs as he is dragged further down.

 _'Just swim,'_  he says to himself, when he knows he can barely move any of his limbs. _'Just swim.'_

He opens his eyes, if only just a little bit. He feels predictably lightheaded, the lack of oxygen pervading through his entire system. He's still coherent enough to know he's sinking all the way to the bottom, though, fading from the surface with no one to know that he's even gone. He shuts his eyes closed, feeling the last bit of air escape altogether.

 _'You're disappearing,'_ his mind chokes out. _'You're letting go.'_

 _'I'm letting go,'_ Haruka tries to nod along, entranced by the daze of half-consciousness.

_'You're fading away.'_

_'I'm fading away.'_

But before Haruka completely lets go, letting the water take him in completely, he hears the garbled noise of someone calling his name. He thinks it might be Rei at first, or Rin, but even when he's drowning he'll recognize that voice anywhere.

_'You're disappearing because of Makoto. There's no one else you'd disappear over.'_

Haruka thinks of Makoto's not-so-secret smiles, the dying sparklers in light snow, the delicate sway of two held hands.

_'You're disappearing.'_

_'I know,'_ Haruka answers. _'I know.'_

Haruka close his eyes, the last remnant of consciousness quickly leaving like all of his other functions have. That voice still calls him. There's a giant splash from above. It reverberates through the water like an explosion.

 _'Let go,'_ his mind urges once more, like a siren on the rocks.

The smile. The dying sparklers. Hands, so lightly held.

Haruka thinks, with that last absolute ounce of consciousness he has left, 'that's what I'll take with me.' If he has to let go, if he has to leave, he will take those small memories with him, wherever he ends up going.

 _'Just give me this,'_ Haruka pleads. _'This one, small thing.'_

And as if by some small miracle, as if someone is actually listening to him, Haruka feels someone take his hand, a warm and gentle reprieve before completely going under.

 

**rule fourteen: listen and find your way back.**

 

"Calm down...Makoto, calm down!"

"You won't do anyone good if you don't..."

The voices are close.

"Haru... _Haru_..."

Makoto's voice sounds cracked, as if he's been crying. In between Makoto's calls, pained and pleading, Haruka feels a pressing sensation on his lips, as if someone's trying to breathe the life back into him. He knows the feeling of them anywhere, the same shape and plush he's always used to in three-second intervals, but there's something more urgent about the way they crash into each other this time.  
  
' _Makoto_.'

Of course it's Makoto who's trying to save him, reckless and upset and desperate.

"This can't be...not...not again..." Makoto is struggling to compose himself with how shaky he sounds. Again, the pressing sensation comes against his lips. Haruka feels hands push down on his chest. One, two, three...

" _Haru_..." Makoto chokes out again. "Please..."

One, two, three...

Lips press against him again and another breath fills Haruka's lungs.

"Haru...please... _please_ don't," Makoto pleads.

 _'Didn't you say you were letting go?'_ That taunting voice says. _'Why don't you just do that already?'_

"Haru!"

Haruka gasps and opens his eyes instantly, hacking up pool water and falling back onto the concrete of the poolside. Makoto is hovering over him, dripping wet from head to toe, still out of breath, presumably from jumping in to get Haruka in the first place. Weakly, Haruka stares up at his best friend, the first person he usually sees when he emerges out of the water, and encounters a face he never wants to lay his eyes on again.

Makoto's openly crying, completely overwhelmed, shaking his head over and over in trying to keep himself together. He's horrified and relieved, all in the same instance. Makoto's breathing out all sorts of things that Haruka can only make out partially—some oh my _god's_ , a sorry or two—and it comes to a point where he just lies his head on Haruka's chest and hides himself altogether. His whole body is shaking in sobs.

"Makoto..." Haruka can barely say. His throat burns from the acid and chlorine to really make any audible noise. He puts a hand on his back, softly stroking away the goosebumps on the other boy's skin.

He wants to say, _'Please don't cry over me.'_

Rin has to pry Makoto off of Haruka. "Hey...come on, Makoto, he's fine. He's fine..." His voice trails off in trying to hold it together, too. "Haru's okay. And I made Nitori and Rei get help."

"Haru-chan...you weren't breathing." Nagisa says, leaning down. "You were..."

_Dead._

Gone and dead. He should have disappeared.

That's what Haruka should've been by now. He had felt himself let go. He shouldn't be here, with Makoto crying over him like this.

Helplessly, he looks up at his best friend again, at a face he can barely keep his eyes on.

And once again he thinks, _'Please don't cry over me.'_

 

**rule fifteen: change your mind.**

 

"Makoto."

Haruka drifts in and out of slumber. Makoto trembles while he holds him.

Still dazed, more from too much sleep than nearly drowning today, Haruka nuzzles his head into the confines of Makoto's chest, his small way of demanding of _'hey, answer me,'_ following Makoto's bout of extended silence tonight. Haruka knows he's not asleep either, from the way Makoto runs his fingers through his hair, from the way he blows away every stray strand on Haruka's forehead to kiss him, careful and delicate with the brush of his lips.

"Makoto?" Haruka calls out again in a question, his voice still small and weakened by his recent sleep.

And again, Makoto doesn't answer him. He just brings Haruka a little closer in all of his quietness.

"I'm sorry, Haru." Makoto finally says. It feels like the first real thing he's said since bringing Haruka home from Samezuka. His voice is just above a whisper because his throat probably still sore from crying before, and he probably finds it embarrassing to open his mouth in such a state.

"Why?" Haruka asks him. "I'm fine." He wrings his arms over Makoto, resting his face in the warm cotton of his sweater. Even dry, he still smells like chlorine. Makoto probably hasn't bothered to shower since coming out of the pool. Then Haruka thinks he probably hasn't eaten either, or taken the time to go home to see his family.

It hurts Haruka to think that he's been lying here all this time.

"I know...I'm just..."

 _'Upset.'_ Haruka doesn't have to wait for Makoto to finish the sentence.

"I don't want to lose you, Haru," Makoto admits. "I'd never want to lose you."

Haruka parts himself from the comfort of Makoto to face him in a blatant lie.

"You won't," Haruka says. "I'm here."

Again, Makoto falls silent before taking a deep breath and forming the right words.

"This is going to sound so ridiculous." Makoto lets out the saddest sounding laugh.

Hugging Makoto tighter, this is Haruka's way of saying, ' _I will never think of you as ridiculous_.'

"It's not just about you almost drowning." Makoto explains. "I just have this feeling like...I'm losing you, somehow. It's an awful feeling, like you're slipping away from me. And it sounds stupid, I _know_ it does, because you're here. _You're right here_. But I just have a bad feeling about things."

By the end of Makoto's answer, Haruka knows he's crying again. It's the soft sort, wordless and free of sobs, but Haruka can always tell from the loud way he swallows the lumps in his throat and the way he tries to hide his sniffling.

"I just can't lose you, Haru." Makoto whispers. "I don't know what I'd do, if I did."

Haruka doesn't say anything. He feels a strange dryness overcome any of his ability to speak, and he knows it's not about any post-sleep grogginess or nearly choking on pool water. The two of them continue to hold onto each other, and Haruka lets himself latch onto Makoto closer.

 _'Didn't you say you were letting go?'_ That taunting voice says. _'Why don't you just do that already?'_

Haruka ignores the voice. He closes his eyes and lets Makoto lay a kiss on him, the other boy full of longing and the inability to let him go.  
  
And Haruka realizes, as awful the idea sounds, that there's no way he'll go down this easily.

Because as the night descends into a place without stars, Haruka figures that no god or deity or whatever celestial force up above would dare to take something so precious from him.

He's done pleading for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for reading again. Lots of high drama this time around. At this point, I'm not sure how long this multichapter will run.
> 
> For music, it was a generous heaping of "Sakura Nagashi" by Utada Hikaru and plenty of Bon Iver. Some of "The Moon Song" for softer scenes. 
> 
> Anyhoo, come find me on @asplendidmoon on twitter. Talk MakoHaru to meeeee


	5. please, please, please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _Hands held like nothing's wrong._  
> 

  

 ** rule sixteen ** **: beat this.**

 

As a gesture of good will, Haruka reluctantly shares his early-morning mackerel with the cat.

"Much appreciated." The cat says as Haruka clips a piece between his chopsticks, dropping a bite's worth in his two paws. The feline laps it up without too much of a problem and licks the sides of his mouth when he's done. He's not wearing his rain boots today, but has instead decided to accessorize with a blue ribbon around his neck. A little bell rings when he shakes his head. 

Haruka eats a bit of fish himself, before realizing that he's not in the slightest bit hungry. In fact, he feels queasier than anything, but he thinks that anyone would feel this way at five forty-five in the morning. Haruka is just beginning to realize just _how_ erratic his sleep schedule is getting, with the frequent late nights and these early check-ins, but Haruka feels oddly light about it all. Maybe he's just _that_ tired, and that's probably part of the reason, but he knows, deep down, that it's a matter of what everyone calls, _the butterflies in his stomach_.

Otherwise known as the queasiness, unease, and excitement of one person completely enthralled by another.

"How did you know?" Haruka asks.

"Know what?"

"That I needed to see you."

The cat licks at his paw for the taste of leftover fish. Haruka just slides the plate over and lets him have the whole thing.

"Well, all cats have an uncanny sense about these sorts of things. I'm very _in-tune_ with those about to vanish off the place of the earth." The cat sneaks Haruka a clever little look, as if to say, _'Yes, that's right, you're still going to disappear. Don't you dare think otherwise.'_  

But Haruka can't help but think _otherwise._ He clenches his fists together, about to snap his chopsticks right in half. As Haruka elects to keep his silence, the cat tackles another piece of mackerel, ripping off a piece of grilled skin. 

"I heard the water almost took you the other day," the cat says, with his mouth full.

Haruka looks over at him. "Who told you about that?"

"The mice at Samezuka are a chatty bunch." 

"Ah." 

"Nearly drowning should've been enough for you to leave the Tachibana boy for good, right?"

Haruka doesn't say anything.

"That really _must_ have been enough of a scare for you."

If nearly drowning has been _enough_ for anything, leaving isn't it.

Haruka replays those hours when he doesn't mean to. It's been this way for a week now. Like a muted scene, much because the sound is too sad to play again at even minimum volume, he imagines Makoto crying into his chest by the poolside. He remembers every shiver and goose bump on the terrified boy's skin, the feel of warm tears, like light rain when mixed with dripping pool water. His mouth is stretched in agony with every call of ' _Haru_.'

And Haruka remembers wanting to tell him, _'Please don't cry over me.'_

Once everything is settled, they hold hands all the way home. Makoto helps Haruka up the stairs like the latter won't make it, each step needlessly small and meant to guide him back. And in several instances, Haruka tells him, _"I'm okay"_ or _"I'm fine."_ But of course, this is one of the rare times Makoto just won't listen.

When they're lying in his bed, warm and secure and away from the water, Haruka lets himself fall asleep next to Makoto. He remembers thinking, _'maybe I should tell him to go home'_ before drifting off the first time, but he doesn't actually do it.

And when it's clear Makoto is still upset about things, with his declaration of, _"I just can't lose you, Haru,"_ Haruka makes his own, too.

_"I can't lose you, either."_

"I need to ask you a question." Haruka says, interlacing his own fingers together to prevent them from freezing altogether. As he fills the empty spaces himself, he knows it just doesn't feel the same, so he makes a reminder to hold Makoto's hands later. That should feel much better.

"Sure."

"Has anyone ever beat this?" Haruka asks.

The cat drops the current piece of fish in his mouth. "Excuse me?"

Haruka holds his resolve, keeping the frown on his face, as if this cosmic messenger will carry the gesture all the way back to the gods for him. In response, the cat pushes away the plate of fish and sits upright. The bell around his neck jingles incessantly, like a small warning to back down.

"No one defies the rules of personal rapture, Nanase,” the cat reiterates. "You either avoid your trigger or you disappear. You know the rules."

"Then why am I still here?" Haruka raises his voice slightly. "If I..."

"If you _what_?" It is clear the cat is beyond irritation at this point.

The words rest on his tongue, ready and willing and all sorts of restless.

"You know." Haruka says instead.

"Don't ever mistake a slow fade for a god's mercy." the cat says. "The universe will not make an exception for you. Honestly, how _audacious,_ how _disrespectful_ can you be—"

"I don't want to disappear." Haruka interrupts him, all on the verge of yelling. There's a stammer in his voice, and he's not sure if it's because it's really too cold outside and he's shaking from it, or if he's just that upset about things. He would bet everything on the latter. 

The cat sighs and shakes his little head.

"You love him."

Haruka feels his chest sink with that word, _love_ , one that he avoids saying altogether. All of these years, he's trained himself not to love anything, at least not out loud. He _likes_ mackerel, but he'll never say he _loves_ it. He has always craved the water, felt like he belonged in it, but he will never affix the word _love_ to that, either. And while he doubts he'll ever disappear over things like grilled fish and swimming pools, because _this isn't the kind of love the gods were talking about_ , he has always been wary of using the word at all.

He just tells himself something small, but absolute, for when he beats this.

_'One day, when this is all over, I will say it to you.'_

Makoto's face, laughing under the stars, flashes across Haruka’s mind as he makes this resolution.

“Is he really worth losing yourself over?” The cat asks, as Haruka snaps back into reality.

Haruka just stares back at the cat. “I won’t...I won't lose myself."

The two of them just sit in silence, both of them engaged in what could be described as thoughtful _fuming_. They can agree to disagree. Haruka will not bother to seek the approval of a talking cat with too much time on his hands anyway. 

"They're angry with you." The cat finally says, peering up the gray, cloud-covered expanse. "I can feel it."

"So?" Haruka asks in defiance.

And as the winter winds pick up with a harsh little whistle, a sure sign from the gods to _stand down_ , to _give up_ , to choose for once and for all, to _stay or fade away_ , Haruka smothers the urge to run back inside and shut the doors. He refuses to close himself from the world that wants to forget him. 

Because Haruka knows he deserves to be here as much as the next person. This sentiment runs rampant in his head, and it's so overwhelming that he almost misses the sound of his house creaking behind him.

"Haru!" Makoto comes calling from inside, probably awoken by the chilly emptiness of extra bed space. He peeks his head out of the back door and offers his usual smile at Haruka, stepping outside and blowing hot air into his palms.

"Hello there." He says to the cat, crouching down to pet him. The cosmic messenger hisses at Makoto and hops off the back deck, running away all together without so much as a feigned _meow_. The jingling bell accents his getaway.

"Ah...well, that's never happened to me before." Makoto says, laughing lightly. He sits down next to Haruka, as unbothered as unbothered can get, and swoops in for a small kiss. He's been full of those lately, and Haru knows this morning will not be an exception for many more, at least before school.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out.

"Hm?"

His mind says, in all self-preservation, _'tell him to get out and never come back.'_

The howling gods, through every slice of wind, say, _'go ahead and play your little games.'_

"Good...morning, Makoto." he tells Makoto rather shyly, listening to neither. He just wants to be his company. That's all there is to it. No running away, no games.

With the greeting, Makoto's face lifts in just the slightest bit of surprise before returning to its usual easiness. Haruka decides that he is much too graceful for the early-morning.

"Good morning, Haru." 

And just as promised earlier, Haruka unlinks his own hands, letting Makoto fill the spaces between his fingers instead.

 

**Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5245: Petulant Little Boy**

 

Hi all. Sorry I haven't been updating lately, it's been a very busy season for new candidates, and I've just spent the past week consulting a forty-seven year old man about the perils of eating too much chocolate. _'Eat too many pieces of dark chocolate with nuts in them, and you'll disappear. This is a warning for your personal rapture.'_ Not as dramatic as my other cases for sure, and quite silly really, but the news came as a huge shock to him.

But then again, I forget that most cases are like this. I forget that most candidates don't get a trigger as simple and unsavory as _love_ , and that most candidates don't receive the news at _ten years old_. 

I forget that most candidates aren't like Nanase Haruka.

You know, speaking of Nanase Haruka, I actually went to see him again the other day, and I believe I was on the verge of showing my claws and giving him a light scratch for all the demands he was making. Now, I don't really care if you dislike the gods or if you curse the heavens on a daily basis, but do respect the process. _Respect the rules of personal rapture_. 

He actually had the nerve to tell me, _"I don't want to disappear."_

This is where you might be saying, _"Hey, you know, that's okay, most people don't want to disappear. What's the big deal? He can just avoid his trigger and things will be all right. No need to get worked up."_

Well, I get worked up about this because it's not like he intends to _avoid his trigger._ No, he intends to stay with Tachibana Makoto. I think he wants to fight this. I think he wants to hold on.

Now, you must know that there's _nothing_ more annoying than someone who intends to hold on, all while completely indulging in his triggers. _That_ is what I find so disrespectful about the whole thing.

This is where you might ask me, _"Hey, but if he's indulging in his triggers, won't he just fade away anyway? How would he even try to fight anything?"_

Well, here's my answer to your questions: Think of it as glue. If someone's conviction is strong enough, if his will is determined to stay in spite of everything, the glue holding him together with this world will strengthen. It will get stickier, and harder to unbind. There is a theory, amongst all the thousands of theories I've heard in the past, that this is how most _slow fades_ are made. 

But that's just it: that conviction, that forged bond...it might be strong, a little more resilient than a usual candidate's, but the gods will always take what they want in the end. They will stop at nothing to achieve their means. So, I would just be prepared to say goodbye to him, soon folks.

Because they _will_ **cut you down** , Nanase Haruka. You are just living in the quiet before the storm.

 

 ** rule seventeen ** **: don't stop at their taunts.**

   
"So...the witch told the boy..."

On the way home, Makoto lifts his English workbook up to his face in an apparent struggle over fairy tale translations.

"The witch told the boy..." He reads again, mumbling the words.

Haruka stares out at the beach while Makoto stumbles with his assignment, recollecting all of the day's misgivings. Seven classmates have forgotten his name today, more than yesterday and the day before, some of them apologizing profusely afterwards. Others have taken the liberty of bumping shoulders with him, five students to be precise, with all of them saying rushed variations of, _'oh sorry, didn't see you there.'_ Haruka recounts every roster or list he is suspiciously absent from and wonders why his pen never works when he goes to write his name on exams, and there is a white streak splashed across the place where he's standing in his third year class photo—like a trick in ghost photography.

"Not everyone..."

But between Makoto's struggles with the western language and Haruka's difficulties against greater cosmic forces, their hands are still held like nothing's wrong.

 _No,_ Haruka shakes his head. It's not _like_ nothing's wrong _._

There _is_ nothing wrong.

"Not everyone...gets... _"_ Makoto tries to translate again, squinting into his book.

Besides, Haruka tells himself he feels fine. Ten fingers, ten toes. He can still walk and talk and kiss and be kissed. He can still link his fingers in between someone else’s. As he tightens his grip around Makoto's hand, the opposite of letting go, the one thing that's expected of him, he considers it another instance of _talking back_ to the gods.

 _'What are you going to do to me next?'_ Haruka frowns a little up at the sky. The cat's words, _audacious_ and _disrespectful,_ bubble up again, but he doesn't care if he's being either one of those things.

"Not...everyone...gets their happy ending." Makoto reads, looking mighty proud of himself.

Haruka perks up from the words, spoken right out of Makoto's mouth himself.

“Say that last part again.” Haruka urges.

“Ah.” Makoto scrambles to find his place on the page. “ _Not everyone gets their happy ending_." 

Haruka just shoots another glare back up at the sky.

_'Funny.'_

"Oh, there's more to the passage." Makoto squints into the book.  "I'm not sure why they have us translating fairy tales."

"Go on." Haruka is curious about whatever words the gods may have for him next.

"Okay...well..." Makoto clears his throat. "You will... _you will_...ah, Haru, can you finish the last part for me? I really have to study this more later."

Makoto hands Haruka the workbook, but there are none of the usual blank spaces or neat block text or little illustrations to be seen on the page. Printed in red ink, over and over again, like someone's written it meticulously with a thin point pen, is this proclamation:

 

 _ **YOU WILL DISAPPEAR LIKE ALL THE OTHERS**  
_ _**YOU WILL DISAPPEAR LIKE ALL THE OTHERS**  
_ _**YOU WILL DISAPPEAR LIKE ALL THE OTHERS**  
_ **_YOU WILL DISAPPEAR LIKE ALL THE OTHERS_**

   
Haruka drops the book instantly, the sound of scribbling invading his ears in a scratching, high-pitched shriek. He looks all around for the source of it, at the store awnings, advertisements, street signs, and license plate numbers—their usual text has changed to read things like **_GOODBYE, NANASE HARUKA_** or **_YOU WILL FADE AWAY SOON_** or **_GIVE IT UP_** , all of it written in that neat, red-lined handwriting.

He's so shaken by it that he doesn't even realize how hard he's squeezing Makoto's hand. Like he's trapped in a haze, Makoto's calls of _'Haru'_ sound distant, just like the last time he had called Haruka by the poolside.

"Haru."

The shadows on the sidewalk do a tricky dance, the gods above singing, _'Do you still think this is funny now?'_  

"Haru...hey, are you okay?" Makoto's voice rings clearer once Haruka regains composure around him. He takes a deep breath and nods slowly, glancing down in shakiness at the workbook, where it has returned to being just that, _a workbook_. The street signs have returned to their natural _'no littering'_ state. The shop advertises for fifty percent off daikon radishes.

"Yeah." Haruka says, glancing back down, resisting the urge to heave up on the sidewalk. "I'm fine."

But Makoto knows that Haruka's not fine, because he almost always knows. Without bothering to pick up his workbook off the ground, he holds the hand he doesn't already have a grasp of and offers Haruka a small kiss on the head. It's more calming than anything, his warm breath tickling Haruka's skin and blowing away the strands of his bangs, but this doesn't stop his hands from trembling the way they are.

"Haru." Makoto says, his face still kept close. "Your hands are shaking."

Haruka looks down at their held hands, both of them lightly cracked from the wear of winter and a lack of gloves. Makoto's right about Haruka's shaking hands, which are probably more out of momentary shock than anything else, a small scare from the gods that could do so much worse, but this doesn't explain why Makoto's hands, slightly pruned from the cold and even bleeding from apparent dryness, are doing the same.

Haruka catches him hiding away his slight frowns and cloudy stares. The smile plastered on Makoto's face is uncomfortable at best.

"You're worried." Haruka remarks. His shoulders sink in the guilt he can't help but feel, his grip loosening ever so slightly over Makoto's hands. Haruka frowns a little at not realizing this before, wondering just _how_ many times he's glanced over every one of Makoto's attempts at hiding his discontent. 

"I...I'm sorry." Makoto answers him, his face crumbling into this strange combination of worry and embarrassment and perhaps something like _sadness_. "I guess...I still get nervous thinking about you...and the drowning thing. _Almost_ drowning, I should say. And I know I shouldn't, and I know you told me to stop worrying...but I can't help it. I really can't, so I'm sorry—"

"Makoto." Haruka's voice cracks slightly in interrupting him, a small appeal to stop. _Just stop._ And it's not like Haruka wants to cry about this, but he thinks how awful it is to have Makoto, who should be too busy being _in love_ , stupidly and completely in love like all the other silly young people his age, to worry about him like this. None of the burden should be his to share.

He should be happy. 

 _They_ should get to be happy.

"I'm so sorry, Haru." Makoto says.

And it is here where Haruka realizes, through all of the celestial taunts he's tried to ignore for the past week or so, through every instance he's cursed the gods, clicking his tongue up at the sky in all defiance, he's forgotten to check on Makoto. Because, intrinsically, and because it's him, Makoto _knows_ that something's wrong.

Haruka might have dragged himself into a war he's not totally ready to fight, but he has no intention off dragging Makoto into it, too.

"Don't be." Haruka tells him, faint but heard. As he presses his face against the fabric of Makoto's coat, unabashedly squeezing him in a hug that they both sorely need, he finds that he's the one apologizing to him in his usual, unspoken way. And with every _sorry_ he has caught in his throat, he pleads, not to any malice-filled god or cosmic entity, but to Makoto himself—

 _'Please don't be sorry.'_  
 _'Please don't worry about me.'  
_ _'Please don't cry over me.'_

And most importantly:

_'Please, please just be happy.'_

"Let's head home." Makoto whispers into Haruka's ear, although it seems like he has no intention of moving from this spot anytime soon. Haruka is the first one to let go, glancing upward at Makoto one more time, lips tight, eyes lowered, as if to say, _'You know, I worry about you, too,'_ but he doesn't actually speak. The lump in his throat prevents any further talk about things like this.

"I'll...make you dinner." Haruka changes the subject in attempt to lighten the dour mood, crouching down on the floor to pick up Makoto's workbook. "Not mackerel." He takes the liberty of sifting through the pages, thinking it would only be right to find the place where Makoto left off on. Makoto could use the practice translating. Haruka will be glad to listen.

And when Haruka finds the page, he is only greeted with a new message, written once in the center of an otherwise empty sheet of paper:

 

**You know, if you refuse, we'll just have to take him instead.**

 

 ** resolution one ** **: be with him.**

 

When the first drop of blood forms on Makoto's lip, Haruka just wipes it off with his thumb and digs in to kiss him again, letting out a small and unexpected yelp when Makoto flips him onto the mattress to go after Haruka himself. Makoto hasn't touched him like this since the drowning incident a week and a half ago, but it's obvious that he's reached his limit in treating Haruka with _fragility_. Still, Makoto's touch is awfully on the careful side, desperate yet deliberate with every drag of his hand across Haruka's bare chest, and it's here where Haruka realizes he's been waiting too long for this, too. He decides he can live with the extra delicateness. As he closes his eyes, relaxing on the plush of the pillow beneath him, his breathing becomes a soft and pained panting when Makoto shifts more of his weight on him.

"Am I hurting you, Haru?" Makoto asks with difficulty, because he's growing breathless, too.

"No..." Haruka strokes his back weakly, shaking his head on the pillow.

_'Am I hurting you?'_

_We'll just have to take him instead—_

_No_ , this is not the time to think about things like this. As Makoto kisses him again, Haruka just repeats to himself, over and over again, speaking to the gods at the worst possible time, _'You're bluffing, you're bluffing, you're bluffing.'_

Because Haruka thinks there's no way they'd actually take away his _trigger_ of all things.

"Haru..." Makoto whispers into Haruka's ear, sending the deepest shivers down his spine. It's the type of sound that dies right at the second syllable, weak and about keel over from being so enraptured. When he says his name again like that, _Haru_ , _H-ha-ru,_ Haruka is compelled to tell him to stop altogether. The way his spoken name dissolves into nothingness is usually something Haruka can get into quite easily, it's probably one of his favorite things about being in bed with Makoto actually, but there's just something much too foreboding about it the time.

"Makoto," Haruka calls out, pressing a palm to the other boy's shoulder, making a light slapping sound that signals him to stop. In all of his helplessness, he stares up at Makoto, where another fresh smattering of blood has colored his bottom lip with red.

And this is where Haruka thinks, _'I've never made you bleed before.'_

"It doesn't hurt." Makoto says to him. "It's fine." He dives in to kiss Haruka again and this time he is much too keen on the smell of blood. 

"I mean...you say I bite too hard anyway." He continues. "Maybe a bloody lip is just a bit of cosmic payback?" He muses, obviously not understanding the implications of what he thinks is a simple _joke._

Haruka is too shocked to say anything back to him, his mouth opening and closing in the words that won't come. The blood beads again at the place where Haruka bit down in the first place, like this is the beginning. The beginning of the gods _taking him instead._

"I..." Haruka starts, without finishing. He sits up in Makoto's bed, taking another long and lingering look at him, before climbing out of from the sheets altogether. He scrambles to get his clothes from the floor, shimmying on his pants and haphazardly buttoning up his shirt to mismatched holes. 

All the while, Makoto just wipes his lip off on his wrist and climbs out from under the blankets, putting his boxers back on.

"Haru?"

"I...I'll be back." Haruka tells him, going to the door.

"Do you need me to come with you?"

"No!" Haruka accidentally exclaims. "No...I..."

One more hard look at Makoto and Haruka just feels like crawling back to him altogether. But he can't. Not until he gets his answers, first.

"I...promise I'll be back." Haruka says. "Wait here for me."

"Haru—"

"Please." Haruka says to him, his voice barely above a whisper. To Makoto, this sort of voice must be more lethal than any barked command, apparent from how he just nods, gaping at Haruka's quiet urgency.

With a sigh, Haruka just kisses him hurriedly on the forehead before rushing out the door.

 

When he makes to his house, he shuts the door behind him with a giant thud. He stares at the dried blood on his thumb, some trapped under his fingernail, and looks all around at the dark and empty house around him. The sound of footsteps comes echoing through the wall, like he's been living with ghosts.

"Can you hear me?" Haruka asks. "You're all here, aren't you?"

The thumping of footsteps stops immediately.

"Don't hide from me!" He clenches his fists together at his sides, as if he's actually expecting a scuffle with a dozen invisible gods.

The television switches on in the other room, welcoming Haruka with the hazy, blue glow from the hallway. The sound of laughter emerges from a jokey talk show, saving a still house in evening's darkness. When he wanders into the other room, the screen changes into static, and the faint sound of a vaguely familiar children's tune starts playing from his father's old radio. The sound of jingling emerges from under the table, revealing the cosmic messenger known as the cat.

"I came here as fast as I could." the cat says, out of breath.

Haruka shakes his head. "I'm not here to speak to you."

"Oh, I _know_ who you're here to speak with."

"Then get them to me. Call them. Whatever it is that you do—"

"They're already here, Nanase." The cat turns his head towards the television screen.

Haruka sits down in front of the television and stares straight ahead, letting the static blurry his vision. _No,_ it's the tears doing this. They're tears for sure. Hurried, angry, and at a loss. As he wipes them away, clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath and tells himself to start the conversation.

"I know what a bloody lip means, because I never do that to him when we kiss." He says.

The television switches off from the static. A pixelated **_'good_** _'_ written in green appears in the screen instead.

"Don't...don't take him." Haruka says. "Please." Again, he glances down at the dried blood on his finger. Makoto's blood. The _last_ he should be shedding throughout this whole ordeal. 

**_Too late._ **

Haruka shakes his head. "No. _No,_ it's not too late."

**_You've declared war._ **

"Then I'll take back everything I've said." 

**_Oh?_ **

"Yes." Haruka barely edges out. The screen goes dark for a couple of moments, before the next set of green text appears on the screen. Again, Haruka has to wipe the moisture from his eyes to actually see it.

**_So easy to give up._ **

"Because it's Makoto." Haruka has no problem saying next. _Because he has to be kept safe. Because I will not watch what you'll do to him next. Because he deserves so much better than this._  

_Because he should get to be happy._

"Take me." Haruka chokes out. "Don't involve Makoto in this. I'll disappear. I won't fight this anymore."

A couple of days ago, the cat had asked him, _'Is he really worth losing yourself over?'_

And out loud, Haruka responds to the old question, "Yes," even if no one can hear him say it. _Yes, yes, yes._

"Please." Haruka pleads. "Don't do this to him."

When no new text appears on the television screen, Haruka takes it by the sides and gives it a good shake. He pounds the top of it with a fist until his knuckles are sore and on the verge of bleeding, leaning over it in breathlessness. Every thought of Makoto comes streaming into his head, him by the poolside, him under the stars, him in his bed, him everywhere and anywhere because they should've been together, side by side, for longer than the short time they've spent together. In absolute hindsight, he regrets every shortened, three second kiss, every time he's swatted away his hand, every time he's said, _'no, I won't face you today.'_ He regrets every rule and regulation. He regrets that they couldn't be more _together._

As Haruka raises his head to face the television screen in complete misery, one more blip of green text appears.  
  
 **50.**

"Fifty..." Haruka mouths. "Fifty what?"

**50 days, starting tomorrow.**

"Fifty days." Haruka repeats back thoughtlessly. "And...you won't harm Makoto, then?" Haruka asks. "He'll be okay?"

**Yes.**

"Do you promise?"

**Yes.**

"Why—"

 **Goodbye, Nanase Haruka.** The screen returns to static.

_Fifty days._

Haruka shuts the television off and leans his head against the screen, taking in deep breaths like gulps of something boiling, scalding, a poison he'll never be able to drink in all at once. _Fifty days._ His hands, still perched on the television set, won't stop shaking. _Fifty days._ He can hear the cat running around frantically behind him, bell jingling in all urgency, and he's tempted to take his collar off altogether to stop the noise. All for some peace of mind, if that's even possible. _Fifty days._ Haruka realizes that having a peace of mind isn't even possible, at this point.

"Nanase..." The cat starts pawing at Haruka's thigh. "This is... _unprecedented_. You do understand that, don't you?"

"So what?"

"I have never seen the gods specify days for anyone."

Haruka shakes his head over and over again, sniffling loudly. At this point, he doesn't care if this is all _unprecedented._ He doesn't care if the cat can hear him cry. Shutting his eyes, he thinks about disappearing in this instant, because wouldn't that be the easiest thing to do?   _Wouldn't it be better than counting down the days until he was nothing?_

Imagined stars start to illuminate themselves behind his closed lids. At first, Haruka's not sure if his eyes are still dazed by the sickly glow of the TV screen, making up colors and lights, because he cannot possibly be seeing stars now. But Makoto's face, laughing under the dazzling lights, flashes across Haruka’s mind nonetheless, and he looks happy. If only Haruka could feel the same about things.

If only he could join him.

Haruka lifts his heavy head from his shoulders and wipes away whatever evidence he's left behind from crying. Walking right past the cat, who's asking him all sorts of questions about the _theory of slow fades,_ jabbering on about things that Haruka can't bring himself to care about, he picks up his jacket and ties his shoes, slamming the door behind him. He picks up his stride, finding himself running to the stairs altogether, because _fifty days_ might as well be _ten seconds_ , and he just doesn't have time to waste, all before finding Makoto already waiting at the bottom of the stony steps.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out, sounding more like a whimper than anything else. Makoto turns around, offering nothing but a look of apprehension before changing into something resembling a smile.

"Ah, Haru!" Makoto rises from his seat on the stairs right away, going up to meet his best friend at the top of the stairs. Haruka, still breathless, throat burning, the thought of _fifty days, fifty days, fifty days_ pounding through his head, watches Makoto take his every step like he could do this forever.

"I know you told me to wait at home, but it was getting late and I wasn't sure if you were coming back." 

"I said...I'd come back, right?"

Makoto just laughs a little. At this point, he's only two steps below Haruka, with his face half-obscured by the other boy’s shadow. "I shouldn't have doubted you. Ah...Haru, were you just..." He reaches up to touch his face.

But before Makoto can inquire any further, before he can really reach him at all, Haruka just leans in himself to kiss him, sore and soft and stinging with the thought of him.

"Come home with me." Haruka pleads, as he parts from the kiss.

_'Because I don't want to think about anything else tonight.'_

As his response, Makoto simply fills the empty spaces between Haruka's fingers with his own, hands held like nothing's wrong. Hands held like they should be together for a long while.

"Okay, Haru."

But Haruka can't think of anything close to _a long while._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter was about a 1000 words longer than the others, but that's okay! I don't have a lot to say again so I'll just keep this short. Musically, I listened to a lot of sad anime instrumentals over at 8tracks and the song "You're in Love" from the Howl's Moving Soundtrack on loop. Over and over again. ON THE TRAIN.
> 
> Anyway, come find me at the username 'companions' on tumblr or @asplendidmoon on twitter (please do I like meeting new people all the time!!)


	6. at the bottom of an empty pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But for now, I guess I’ll kiss you for every star I see tonight.”_

** resolution two: ** **don't cry in front of him.**

**(fifty days to go)**

 

On the first morning since hearing the news, Haruka rolls over in bed alone and lets out a small yelp, dragged out of some small, hazy dream he can't quite remember.

"Makoto." Breathing hard into his pillow, he runs his hands over the cold half of his bed, wondering if Makoto has gone home for the morning already. A small part of him wonders, fleetingly, if maybe the other boy has already forgotten him; he imagines Makoto waking up to a stranger and darting out in all horror, thinking, as he rushes back to his own home, _'I would never be this intimate with someone I don't know.'_ With this, Haruka wonders why he has chosen to start his morning on such a dreary note. After another hushed call of Makoto's name, tone hushed and throat sore, he thinks about just drifting off back into sleep.

_'Just a bad dream,'_ Haruka tells himself, shutting his eyes closed until they hurt from the strain. _'Maybe it's all just a bad dream.'_

The door slides open and jolts Haruka awake from his wishful thinking. Makoto comes into the room with two cups of tea, smiling warmly at Haruka, setting their drinks down on the desk and looming closer to kiss him _good morning._ It’s a small relief, even if it's fleeting.

"Haru..." Makoto's smile instantly crumbles off his face when his lips separate from Haruka's cheek. He rubs a thumb under Haruka's eye gently, but it still stings to the touch. "Have you...been crying?" He asks. "Your eyes are really red."

Haruka shakes his head, but he realizes he really might have been crying in his sleep. Makoto probably didn't see the state of him last night—after all it was dark enough and Haruka had told him he just wanted to go straight to sleep—but the morning light won’t let things hide forever.

"No." Haruka chokes out, hoping that his lack of voice could be mistaken for morning raspiness.

"Haru." Makoto calls out, running his fingers through Haruka's hair and holding him lightly on the shoulder with the other hand. It has gotten to the point where little caresses like this have become so painfully normal, like they really _are_ lovers, comforted by the warmth of a touch that feels just like home. As Makoto swoops in for a kiss, light and out of a comfort he thinks his best friend needs, Haruka feels the lump in his throat break into a whimper looking to escape.

"Ah." Haruka turns away from the kiss, letting him plant a peck on his cheek again instead. He knows he'll just break down again if Makoto decides to stay for too much longer.

"You know, I wanted to save the question for the morning, but...where did you run off to last night?”

Haruka looks down and shrugs. "I felt sick. So I just went home to take a nap."

"I could've taken care of you." Makoto offers a conciliatory grin. "You shouldn't have to be alone for things like that."

"Ah." _You don't have to be alone for things like that._ "Yeah." Haruka squeaks out. Diving headfirst back into his pillow, Haruka takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm down. After all, it is just too early in the day to be making himself this miserable.

"Are you still feeling unwell, Haru?" Makoto runs a hand down Haruka's back, patting him gently. "Do you want to call in sick today? I'll stay with you...I can take an absence, too."

Haruka just shakes his head, opting not to look up at Makoto at all. "No," his voice breaks again, the sound of it muffled by the plush of his pillow. "Go to class."

"But, I don't want to leave you—"

"Just...just go." Haruka urges. "Take good notes for me."

"But—"

"There's no point in getting you sick, too." Haruka wishes he would just leave, because the longer he stays, the better chance he'll see Haruka in this state. As an extra measure, he just throws the covers on over himself. It feels wrong the moment he does it, like he's closing a door on his friend, like he's building a wall he certainly has no intention of raising, but Haruka isn't ready to face the day at all. He's not ready to look Makoto in the eye just yet.

"Haru?" Makoto still calls after him. 

_'Don't worry about me.'_ Haruka wants to say, as normally as he can, but the words just don't come. From under the covers, he finds Makoto's hand on the sheets and wraps his fingers around his, because it's all he can manage. He refuses to let Makoto see any of this damage. He can't see how much of a mess things have become.

"Ah...well, I guess...you're right." Makoto says. The deflation in his tone is apparent. Haruka knows he's gotten off the bed when the side of his mattress springs up in lightness, but the feeling of him leaving his side rings emptier than anything else. With hands still held, Makoto is the first to let go, kissing the bump of Haruka's knuckle before doing so. 

"Rest well, Haru." He gets close to where Haruka's head is. "I'll be back by sundown."

And when Makoto does leave the room, sliding the door closed behind him, Haruka comes out from under the blankets to take his air in a little easier.

But he can't.

He _can't._

Huddling close to himself, Haruka hates how hard it is to breathe, whenever he cries.

  


 

** resolution three: ** **find your contingency plan.**

**(fifty days to go)**

 

As much as Haruka doesn't want anyone else to cry at this point, he cannot help but think that, _well_ , the two of them usually would be by now.

"Disappearing. Like _actually_ disappearing? Like _poof_?"

"Yes."

There's a definite cloudiness in Rei's eyes for sure, as he fidgets while he turns the teacup on the table, and Nagisa is definitely bothered, pensive as he forgets about the cookie on his napkin, but there has a certain restraint in their reactions that only reads like one, unmistakable thing—distance.

Nagisa stares up at Haruka with blinking eyes. "So, is this really happening then? You have fifty days?" Rei stops playing with his cup and looks up, too, quiet, his eyes doing a quick, calculating scan of the boy seated across from him. Haruka shifts uncomfortably on the floor under him, knees knocking the ground.

"I...yes." Haruka stammers. "You believe me?"

Nagisa's shoulders sink and he offers the saddest little smile he's ever seen from him.

"I don't know." He answers Haruka.

"It's a hard thing _to_ believe...but at the same time, it's not." Rei interjects.

"It's like, every time I see you, I think... _I have a bad feeling about you._ About things. It's just...there, you know?" Nagisa answers. "At first, I didn't want or notice every time I forgot your name, or every time I forgot to invite you to stuff...but now I can't. Because I think, deep down, I _know_ you're disappearing." 

_You're disappearing._

The Nagisa and Rei Haruka has known all this time would've gotten up from their seats at the table, slammed their hands on the mahogany, and declared, _'They're not taking you away!'_ with a mess of tears in their eyes, voices raised, with almost _comical_ insults aimed up at the gods above. But this isn't the Nagisa and Rei he knows. As much as Haruka knows how much he's about to fade away, as unfamiliar he's becoming to both Nagisa and Rei with each passing day, they're starting to look different to him, too. They feel like caricatures, colored parts slowly fading into gray-scale. 

_Friends_ to _acquaintances_ to _strangers_. The slow fade.

But for now, Haruka thinks they still might be considered friends, even if they're just barely holding on. He will have them for as long as he can.

"Have you told the others?" Rei asks. "How did they react?"

Haruka thinks about the lonely train ride to Samezuka this morning, sitting with Rin on a park bench, and being met with a few uttered obscenities and a stamped foot on the dirt upon hearing the news. There were definitely less questions. Haruka thinks that there were tears in his instance, perhaps a full sniffle's worth, but with the clearing of his throat and a half-bitten lip Rin had buried much of it away. He was not the blubbering mess Haruka saw at last year's regionals, nor was he the storm crying over Sousuke's shoulder this past summer.

"Rin said I should throw a couple of good punches at the heavens above." Haruka explains, remembering the last joke the other boy made to him before parting ways.

Haruka peeks up at the two of them. He admits mentioning this part about _throwing a couple of good punches_ is due to some last semblance of selfishness, a curiosity over whether or not Rei and Nagisa will say, _'Yeah, and we'll fight them, too!'_ but he receives no such reception. Rei just crosses his arms and Nagisa's eyes lift up a bit in surprise, but other than that, there's nothing.

"Did you?" Nagisa asks next. "Did you _try_ to fight?"

Haruka knows he shouldn't have expected anything else.

"Not as much as I wanted to," he answers.

"Why?" 

Glancing over at the television set by the wall, Haruka notices the uneven coat of dust on the top of the screen, handprints from where he spoke to the gods yesterday. From where he first saw that number, a neon green _fifty,_ and from where he pounded the plastic paneling and broke down altogether. It still stings Haruka to think about the message written in the workbook, about the cat's question, ' _Is he worth losing yourself over?'_ and the blood trapped underneath his fingernail.

“Haru-chan?” Nagisa is still waiting for an answer, and Haruka’s just finding a way to hold it all together.

Stiffening a lip, he has reminded himself that he'd never cry about this again, _none of it at all, as much he wants to in all honesty,_ because crying would mean having to splash his eyes with water until they weren't red anymore, and practicing his _I'm okay's_ until they felt the slightest bit natural, and stifling every lump in his throat that tells him, _'Why not? Just cry again.'_

Because crying would mean less time to plan for the forty-nine days he has left. With Nagisa, Rei, Rin. It would mean less time with— 

"Makoto." Haruka barely chokes out, scolding himself for the momentary lapse in _not crying_. "They said they'd take him, if I didn't go." 

Rei and Nagisa only look a little surprised. Nagisa breaks his cookie in half and sighs.

"So...does Mako-chan know, then?"

Haruka lets his eyes sink and folds his hands over the tabletop to get them to stop shaking.

"No." 

"Are you telling him? About all of this?”

Haruka knows instantly that the answer should be _yes_.

"I don't know yet." He tells them instead. Silence follows for a moment, lingering heavy and full, caught in the throats of all three of them like molasses.

"But Haruka-senpai, why did you tell us first?" Rei finally asks.

"Because..." Haruka looks up at both of them, trying to find the words. Rin had asked him the same question at Samezuka, and Haruka just thinks it's best if he just gives them the same answer. There are no frills to add to make the news any prettier, none of the sweet sugar-coatings to make it at least _bittersweet_.

"Because you guys are already slipping away." Haruka admits quietly, but bluntly, squeezing his hands together harder, to the point where his knuckles have turned white and his palms feel numb.

Nagisa breaks his cookie down further, resigned to play with the crumbs instead of actually eating.

"No, we're not...not yet, Haru-chan, we're here now. _We're here_ , aren't we?" Rin had said the same thing. 

"But...you're not." Haruka refutes. He stops what he's saying when he sees the first tear drop from Nagisa's eye and Rei's glasses fogging up. Haruka swallows hard, raises a hand ever so slightly from the table to reach out to them, but he knows there's no use. Ghosts don't reach out to each other.

"Ah...why am I crying?" Nagisa takes a deep breath, wiping them away.

"Because Haruka-senpai...he's..." Rei doesn't finish his sentence. He just takes in a giant gulp of air and swipes his glasses off altogether, staring down at his lap.

These aren't the desperate tears of boys saying, _'There's no way this is happening. There must be some way to help Haruka stay.'_ Just like how Rin cried, it's a quiet, tacit acceptance of things to come, whether any of them see it or not, and Haruka knows this. It's a pre-packaged goodbye cry, the last stand for three friends who know, _innately_ , that they're not going to be a part of Haruka's life for much longer, and like one last whimper into the night, like waving hands out the window of a speeding car, quick and barely heard or seen at all, the crying dissipates almost as soon as it'd started.

It's a god's way of saying, _'You'll get over it.'_

"Sorry." Nagisa mutters, in a congested voice. "I'm sorry." _I'm sorry that I can't do anything for you._  

Haruka folds his hands together again. "It's fine." _None of this is fine._

"Haruka-senpai...isn't there anything we can do for your remaining days?"

"Yeah, really. Tell us, Haru-chan."

He thinks about this for a moment, more so to ponder whether or not he should actually say what's on his mind, because it almost feels just a bit too sentimental, too tinged with what some might call _melodrama_ , but there is no getting around the fact that this might be the last chance he'll get to say it.

"I...want to make memories." Haruka announces, slightly embarrassed. He knows he shouldn't be, not at a time like this, with only forty-nine days to go, but he can't help it.

"I want to take pictures." He continues, even though he might not be seen in any of them.

"I want to see the stars, and sit by the water." He confesses, even though the stars have long rejected him, and the sea just roars for him to keep away.

Nagisa nods with a warmer kind of smile than the ones he's shown today. Melancholy switched out for sunshine, if only for a couple of seconds. The Nagisa he knows has shone up for one brief and shining moment. 

"We can do that. _Tonight_ , even. I'll call Rin-chan."

"Yes. If you can." Haruka offers the smallest smile, somehow thankful and simultaneously miserable.

"And Mako-chan, of course."

"Ah..." Haruka perks up a little more, even if he doesn't mean to. "Yeah." 

"Because you'd want to make the best kind of memories with him, right?" Nagisa asks, still as observant as ever.

"Not...just him." Haruka urges, stifling the heat in his face. "It's not—"

"Haruka-senpai..."

"We all know about you two." Nagisa rolls his eyes a bit.

Haruka drags his gaze off to the side, feeling his heart practically climb up to his throat before swallowing it down, hard. That flash of Makoto appears again, an imagined scenario he's dreamed up so much lately that it's become a false, but dear memory at the back of his messy mind.

Makoto appears under the stars, with a smile brighter than anything he's ever known, and in that same instance, the thought dances away into nothing—starlight first, Makoto last.

"I mean, theoretically speaking, he might be the only one to remember you by the end." Rei proposes, his tone a bit too analytical for a time like this. "He might not even forget you at all."

"That...doesn't mean..."

With a sigh, Nagisa pushes the broken cookie away altogether, because he's obviously not hungry.

"It's okay, Haru-chan.”

“What do you mean?” Haruka asks. _‘How could any of this be okay?’_  

“I mean, _please_ make your memories with us, we can even start a list of all the things you want to do today, but...I think we need to recognize that we won't all be here." Nagisa lets a soft whimper escape his throat, getting choked up again. "Ah, Haru-chan..." He taps Rei on the shoulder to continue the thought. 

"So...make those extra memories with Makoto-senpai, too. Because however you look at it...you'll be each other's lasts." Rei asserts. "Long after we've forgotten your name for good. I think that's how things will play out."

“How can you be so sure?” Haruka voice is trembling by this point, and it’s almost getting too hard to face either one of them.

“Well, I guess we can’t be sure of anything at this point.” Nagisa smiles fondly at Haruka. “But...it’s Mako-chan we’re talking about here.” 

With another quick grin, Nagisa takes out a notepad and a pen out from his knapsack. Before he slides them over to Haruka, who's too speechless and upset to say anything at all, Nagisa writes something at the very top and shows it to Rei. The other boy just nods in approval, pushing his glasses back up his face and clearing away the last bit of tears from his eyes.

On the top of a page that Haruka is wary to read, because frankly he could do without another written threat from the gods above, it says, simply, _the goodbye list._  

"We should probably get started." Nagisa says. "Write to your heart's content, Haru-chan."

And while they're all just caricatures at this point, more faded and filled with static with each passing day, as much as Haruka knows how far gone he is from getting them back, at least they all still have the will to say _farewell._

  


**_The Goodbye List_ **

**_by Nanase Haruka_ **

 

  1. See the stars.
  2. Sit by the ocean.
  3. Take pictures. Lots of them.
  4. Go on a trip. (Not sure where, but somewhere.)
  5. Swim with them.
  6. Swim with him.
  7. Birthday presents.
  8. Share an ice pop. (The blue kind.)
  9. No more rules.
  10. Walk in the rain.
  11. Face him, in that way you know you have to face him, at some point.
  12. Avoid crying, especially in front of him.
  13. Tell him, when the time is right.



  


** resolution four: ** **decide on point thirteen.**

**(fifty days to go)**

 

Haruka comes back into the living room with two plates of fish as the cat is still scanning through his list, curiously pawing at his tiny pair of green reading glasses. Sitting down on the other end of the table, he waits for the cat to finish reading while poking at his own dinner.

"Let's see here..." The cat mumbles.

In all honesty, Haruka's not quite sure he even wants the cat here to begin with. He's heard the saying ' _don't kill the messenger'_ before, but it'd be unwise to not group the cat together with the rest of them. Because it would be nice not to have to deal with anything _cosmic_ for the rest of his remaining days.

When the cat looks up and slides the list away from his view over the table, he offers Haruka a blank little stare.

"You are serious about this, right?"

"What?" Haruka asks.

"When candidates write lists like this, they're usually a little more...extravagant. Don't you want to go skydiving? Or sightseeing somewhere interesting?" The cat advises. "You can do whatever you want, at this point. Your list is just so _mundane._ "

"I like my list."

"Are you sure? I can get you a travel agent, let him book you a trip to Spain. You can bring your—"

"No." Haruka doesn't let him finish.

"Oh, at least let me revise some of these points for you."

"But this is what I want." Haruka urges in his small way, wondering why he thought it'd be a good idea to leave this list out in the first place. He briefly wonders if this is how old people feel when lawyers scold them for putting too much in their _last wills_. 

"Some of these are...not likely. Impossible, honestly. For instance— _looking at the stars_? When's the last time you've gotten to see _one_? A year?"

Haruka looks down at the small bundle he's drawn next to the first bullet point. "Eight."

"Eight months?"

"Eight years."

"Eight _years_?" The cat spits back.

"Yes."

"Then..." The cat offers him a frown, befuddled, or at least what a cat might look like when it's befuddled, before shaking his head and not saying another word about it.

"Then what?"

"Nothing." The cat responds with a polite smile. "It's nothing."

"No." Haruka stabs his chopstick into the soft flesh of his fish. " _Then what_?" 

"Let's go through your other points before you we get so aggressively inquisitive, shall we? I usually hate reading through these sorts of things at all...in fact, I should be looking after new clients, not chasing after a _dead boy_ and his wish list." The cat swats at the piece of paper like it's everything wrong in the world, causing it to fly up in a small _swish_ before landing again on the table.

"I am not a dead boy." _Not yet, at least._

"Yeah, yeah. Okay...let's look at this one about wanting to swim. How are you even going to do that? The water rejected you before."

"I'll figure it out."

" _I'll figure it out._ I feel like you say that a lot, to yourself. _I'll figure it out._ You honestly don't have the time for that, _dead boy_."

"Stop _calling_ me that." Haruka snaps back, if not a little halfheartedly. He knows the cat isn't a big fan of him either at this point, perhaps to the point of this unmitigated snark and sass, and he just wishes he had the energy to actually fight him back on this.

_Dead boy._ He hates how catchy it sounds in his head. He hates how true this will be in forty-nine days time.

"Him." The cat reads next. They both know whom that means. There can be no one else.

"Tachibana Makoto." The cat says next, his voice reverent, like he's saying a saint's prayer or whispering a taboo spell. Haruka feels like saying the name too, but it stays caught in his throat, refusing to reveal itself.

"Besides the _swimming with him_ part, everything else concerning him seems so vague. I know you don't care for glamour, but..."

"I haven't asked for your opinion." He interrupts, because as much as the cat can scratch, Haruka can bite back, too, if only in the smallest amounts.

" _Face_ him? _Tell_ him?" The cat asks anyway, unfettered. "What does this mean?"

Haruka won't tell him about _facing_ Makoto. It's probably the most intimate part of his list, reserved for just the two of them in his bed upstairs. It's something he hasn't been able to do since their first time two winters ago, _face him_ , and his stomach bubbles in excitement and anxiousness over the prospect of finally having him this way again. He imagines what Makoto's face will look like, while the both of them are so vehemently caught up in each other, and then he thinks, _'he'll get to see me, too.'_ And they'll continue on, looking—actually _looking_ —at each other in awe, amidst the mess of sweat and tears and heavy breath from being so hopelessly close.

But Haruka doesn’t let himself linger on the thought for too long, because he knows the real thing will be a million times better. Better than any set of scribbled words on a miserable little list, because none of _facing him_ will be the slightest bit vague.

“Can you at least explain something to me?" The cat asks, obviously aware that Haruka has drifted off into his own little world about things.

Haruka takes a deep breath to cool himself down. "Yes?"

"Well, what do you mean by your last point?"

Frowning, Haruka takes the list into his hands and scans the last item.

_Tell him, when the time is right._

"I'm..."

"Are you going to tell him that you're disappearing?" The cat guesses. "Is that it?"

Haruka shakes his head. "No, it's…”

The cat seems puzzled at first, before settling into what looks like complete understanding. A sigh escapes from under straightened whiskers as he pushes his plate away altogether.

"I wouldn't recommend saying what I think you're about to say." The cat tells him. "If I were you, I would never admit something like _that_ out loud."

"What is it that you think I want to say?" Haruka challenges him.

The cat stares him down, eyes sharp in judgment.

"That you love him."

Haruka doesn't respond to the answer. He thinks he should be used to hearing it by now. After all, it is the reason for everything that's happened to him, but he will never be okay with it. _Love,_ another word for the demise he's chosen. _Love,_ another word for a boy under the stars. _Love, love, love._ Haruka sounds the word out over and over again until it no longer sounds like one to begin with.

As Haruka feels his ears start to burn up and this throat clog up with achy soreness, hearing the word so blatantly spoken, he thinks about how _wrong_ it feels.

It's wrong because the words are coming out of a mouth that isn't his own.

"You love the boy named Tachibana Makoto."

Haruka just lets the judgment pass over and over again. _So wrong._ The cat is being too clinical. _So wrong._ No full names. _So wrong._ Just Makoto. _I love Makoto._ That’s all. 

_'It should be me.'_ Haruka clenches his fists momentarily. _'I should be the one to say it.'_  

"Well, I'm right, aren't I? That you lo—"

"Don't say it again." Haruka barks out. "Don't...say the word."

"I'm right, though."

Haruka lets the house loom in silence again. He can hear a dripping faucet in the kitchen, the creaking of an old wood foundation whining against this seemingly never ending winter. Haruka presses his hands into his lap and stares down. He hates that this is all he's done for the past couple of days. _Stare down._ Keep out of trouble. So he wonders, out of all the things he's given up, his swimming, his friends, the chance at being with the only boy he's sure he could spend _more_ than forever with, why he can't have this one, _small_ thing. 

So Haruka asks the cat just that.

"Why can't I say it?" His voice cracks mid sentence.

"Haven't you all taken enough from me?" He questions further. And this time, a tear does manage to escape, just one, but he's sure the cat has seen it nonetheless. Haruka wipes it away, determined not to let anymore fall, and faces the messenger in defiance. He takes a deep breath before holding his mouth closed and stiff.

"Listen, Nanase." 

Haruka is tired of listening.

"If you want to say it, go ahead. I'm not even entirely sure what will happen, if you do. But the gods have been gracious enough to give you these fifty days, and it'd be a shame to limit them even further over a couple of words."

Too tired to expand on his grievances over the limited nature of having only fifty days, Haruka lets his posture crumble into nothing again.

"But they know, don't they?" Haruka asks. "Even without words...they should know."

_'They should know how much I...'_

_'How much I...'_

The cat offers him a sigh, one free of any condescension, because he knows that the subject of Makoto and Haruka deserves no such ridicule. It is a quiet thing. There is certain gravity to _the two of them,_ one that not even a cosmic cat could ignore at this point, and it is something that has taken Haruka too long to realize on his own. But he knows now.

The subject of _Makoto and Haruka_ warrants its own moment of silence.

"That is true." The cat finally relents. "No one will deny you two. But even if that's the case, even if you don't disappear from saying it..." 

"What is the point of telling him that you love him? When you know you're just going to leave him behind anyway? You're only going to leave him with nothing." 

Haruka shakes his head over and over. "No...no...it's not _nothing_. I'm not..."

"You said it yourself. He knows, he knows about all of it. You'll never have to say a word about anything like love, because love exists like _air_ between the two of you. So why drive him deeper...deeper into something you have _no_ hope of going after, too? Why bring what you have to the surface?" 

With closed eyes, Makoto appears again in the darkness of Haruka's mind, this time in a real memory of melting snow and two dying sparklers.

His mind says, _‘You know he’s not forever.’_

"So...what do I do then?" 

Now it's the cat's turn to fall into silence.

"Answer me."

"You keep that point on your list." The cat finally says. "Because the way I see it, you do have to tell him something. You have to tell him your time here is limited."

Haruka tries to conjure up a _no,_ and in that instant he can almost feel Makoto holding onto him for dear life, like that night after the near drowning. He thinks of the tears and the desperate call of his name, soft like a child's but aching from the thought of great loss. It's something he honestly he never wants to hear again. It's something Haruka _will_ hear again, if he tells him.

_"I just can't lose you, Haru."_

And without a sliver of hope, without any ounce of defiance left within him, Haruka just hopes the next fifty days will be kind to the both of them. 

And that he'll actually have the strength to say what he wants to say. What he needs to say.

Because, in all honesty, _well—_

_'You're going to lose me, Makoto.'_

  


** resolution five: ** **tell him, tell him, tell him.**

**(fifty days to go)**

 

It is nine o'clock at night and three hours until the end of the first day.

Haruka has found himself sitting on the floor by Makoto's bed, knees huddled close to his chest and thumbs twiddling while he waits for Makoto to get out of the shower. He reaches over for the pillow on the mattress and leans against it over his legs, one hand gripping his phone for any news from Nagisa about _stargazing._ He's starting to think they'll never call.

"Come on." Haruka mumbles to himself, heated with a mix of impatience and queasiness.

As he raises himself to sit up right, mind still filled with the thought of stars and confessions and _love_ and all the other things left unfulfilled, he spots the tiniest splatter of dried blood, probably just half a drop's worth, from the other night he was with Makoto. He runs his thumb over it, over and over again, like doing so will make the speck vanish. Haruka drags his touch away from the stain spitefully and throws the pillow back onto the bed.

“Haru!”

Makoto comes back into the room with extra blankets and a few snacks. He sets all of it down, sitting down next to Haruka on the ground and catching his breath from presumably running around the house. With a small chuckle, Makoto leans in to kiss him on the forehead, leaving his lips pressed against his skin for a little longer than he usually does.

"What are you doing?" Haruka asks.

"Checking for a fever." Makoto says, separating himself from him. "I think you're clear."

"By kissing?"

"Aw, don't you remember? Our moms used to do that for us, before we got too tall. Remember that winter we slept in an igloo and we both ended up getting sick?" He laughs a little at that, taking the time to put Haruka's bangs back in place with the swish of his fingers. Haruka can't help but laugh a little with him, even if he doesn't mean to. Even if it's barely a laugh at all.

"I'm glad." Makoto sighs.

"Hm?"

"That's the first time I've seen you smile in a while."

Haruka shrugs, peeking up shyly. "Well, we haven't been around each other all day."

"I know, but still...never mind about that. Do you feel any better? I'm surprised you came to my house first. I was going to come visit after dinner."

Haruka nods, still feeling a spot of warmth against the top of his head. "M-hm."

_'Not really. Well, actually, not at all.’_

Haruka thinks about the cat's suggestion to tell Makoto already, to just say it and be done with it all. The tears have cleared and no lump in his throat threatens to cut off his speech. All that's left is him. No excuses.

_'Just say it. Just say it. Just say it.'_

"Makoto...I..."

Makoto offers that beam of his again, definitely more at ease than usual. Of course he has to ambush Haruka with this.

"Yes, Haru?"

"I..." Haruka thinks it'd be easier if he didn't look Makoto in the eye for this, but he knows it wouldn't be right. _Just say it._ The cat is right. What would be the point of leaving Makoto hanging, if everyone was so sure he wouldn't forget Haruka to begin with? He imagines him in fragmented doses—Makoto calling out into a world where _Nanase Haruka_ no longer exists, at a loss, _a complete and utter loss_ —and he knows there's just no other way around it. Makoto deserves to hear it from him. He deserves to say his farewells, too. 

"I'm leaving." The moment the words leave his mouth, Haruka knows he's gotten the delivery wrong. Just like that, the momentum evaporates into nothing.

"Eh? Leaving? But I thought you were sleeping over tonight." Makoto asks, tilting his head curiously to the side. "If you're worried about getting me sick, it's fine—"

"It's not that." Haruka barks out of nervousness. "It's...not that."

Worry lines grow on Makoto's face, simply because _I'm leaving_ can certainly mean other things, too. It is the type of thing that a scorned lover says, right before slamming the door and leaving the house forever, like one of those old black and white movies they’ve watched on occasion during rainy afternoons. Haruka can see that sort of thought rise up almost as soon as it passes through Makoto's mind, and he reaches out to grab his hoodie sleeve, about to say, _'No, it's not that either, because obviously, **obviously** , I need you—'_

_'I...need you.'_

Haruka looms ever closer, and the both of them so riled up, _nervous_ perhaps, that being this close is dangerous at this point. Haruka leans in, letting the word play itself over and over and over again, because it's one he's felt for the longest time now, but he's avoided even thinking of it. He's never let it materialize like this before. He has never felt so close to saying it.

_'I need you.'_ It sounds awfully close to something else. _‘I need you.’_

And as Haruka's about to actually let the words slip off his tongue, sticking with the original plan of a proper confession, caught up in this _new_ momentum, the doorbell rings downstairs and takes them out of their little world. Haruka just slumps against Makoto's chest and catches his breath, keeping a small grip on both sides of his shoulders. Makoto seems frazzled too, relegated to pressing his head against Haruka's to bring himself some stability. The doorbell just rings again, regardless of their need to recuperate.

"Who could that be?" Makoto asks, slightly irritated.

"I don't know."

And when Makoto's mother comes knocking on the door, the two of them separate and keep their hands held on the floor. She enters not with guests, but with a sealed envelope addressed to just Makoto.

On a small note card, in neat handwriting that can only be Rei's, it reads:

_You will find your light at the bottom of an empty pool. Please meet us there._

  


** resolution six: ** **kiss him, don't kill him.**

**(fifty days to go)**

 

When the two of them reach the empty pool, Haruka looks over the edge and into the darkness. 

“You know, I think we’ve been tricked.” Makoto says, looking around with a short huff of breath, gloved hand held with Haruka’s. “Why would they tell us to come here in the first place? There’s no one here.” 

“Stargazing.” Haruka answers him. “They wanted to do that tonight.”

Haruka looks up at the blackness of the night, no longer hopeful for anything like the sight of stars. But still, when he sees Makoto follow his gaze upwards too, up at the differing sky, he finds that his best friend’s smile is almost worth exposing himself to the empty feeling of the void. Still, as Haruka lowers his gaze back onto the ground, noting how much the shade really obscures things, both in the vastness of the sky and the ground below them, he begins to understand the feeling of _being afraid of the dark_.

He clenches onto Makoto’s hand a little harder and shuts his eyes in all futility. Because even though it’s the sort of darkness he can control, because even though it’s the type he’s made himself, it’s still _dark_ nonetheless, and it just makes him wonder if he’ll ever feel comfortable anywhere again.

“Ah, Haru!” Haruka drops his flashlight at the sudden call of his name, but he still keeps his eyes closed despite the provocation. Makoto sounds excited about something, swinging his and Haruka’s arms back and forth, gasping at the apparent sight around him. And just when Haruka’s about to open his eyes too, he just hopes it’s nothing like the sight of falling stars again, because he doesn’t have the will to pretend to see what Makoto sees tonight. He doesn’t have the energy to lie to him.

But when he does open his eyes, there’s nothing but light. With string lights wrapped around the barren cherry blossom tree, erratically linked on the chain fence, and carefully placed along to the edges of the pool like a legion of perched fireflies, the hazy glow of yellow light surrounds the two of them. To Haruka, it feels sort of like heaven. Makeshift stars have arrived in their own way.

“I can’t believe this.” Makoto gasps. “Did...they mean to surprise us?”

Haruka briefly takes out his phone and brings up the unanswered text messages on the screen. The answer, apparently, is yes.

 

From Rei: **I wanted other colored lights, but the others wouldn’t let me...hope this is to your liking, Haruka-senpai! Please send Makoto-senpai my regards, too!**

From Nagisa: **Haru-chan, sorry we couldn’t stay, but enjoy the lights! They’re so pretty, aren’t they?!**

From Rin: **Oi, you know, rigging this thing was really hard, so you better stay awhile! Don’t do anything too gross...**

  
Haruka smiles fondly and shows Makoto his phone. Makoto looks stupefied at the fact that the three of them could pull off such a grand gesture for them, but then he just seems more embarrassed than anything else. He hides his face behind Haruka’s phone, not really knowing what to say next, but he does end up giving up a laugh despite his sheepishness.

“They know about us, then.” Makoto remarks, peeking at Haruka under the warm glow of the fuzzy light.

Haruka nods. “They said we were very obvious about it.”

“That’s...great to know.” Makoto decides to stop hiding behind the phone and hands it back to Haruka. “Well, I can’t deny that this was nice of them. It’s one way to look at stars.” He glances back at Haruka, eyes lowered and a little bit dewy. The shimmer of the string lights reflects the greenness of them in just the right way, and Haruka cannot help but want to kiss him even more. He’s not sure if it’s the ambiance, or if it’s fact that Makoto has just called the two of them an “ _us_ ,” but he ultimately decides that it’s just a mix of everything in between. So he lets himself linger closer, intoxicated by the warmth and the light, closer, and closer, and closer, like he can tell himself that nothing’s wrong for at least this moment in time—

“Ah. Wait.” Makoto stops himself, pulling his gaze over the edge of the empty pool. He tears himself away from Haruka and looks over the edge. Haruka spots the poorly stacked gym mats sitting at the bottom, enough for two to lie down, as well as the bundle of blankets piled on one side. A waterfall of string lights cascade down the walls of the empty pool, creating a nest of fuzzy illumination.

_You will find your light at the bottom of an empty pool._

So this is what the note meant. Before Makoto has a chance to question any of it, Haruka yanks him over to the ladder and descends down to the bottom. Makoto follows after his best friend, gingerly hopping into the depths, too.

“Why can’t I stop thinking that you were involved in this?” Makoto chuckles as Haruka picks up the Polaroid camera from atop the blankets, tucking the strap underneath his jacket sleeve.

“I just said I wanted to see stars.” Haruka answers him. “I didn’t think they’d go this far.”

“They do have a flair for the dramatic.” Makoto laughs. “I should’ve brought sparklers again.”

Haruka leads Makoto over to the mats and sits down first, lying down back first to meet the vacant sky.

“I liked your sparklers.” Haruka admits, propping himself on his elbows.

“I’m glad.” Makoto says, like he’s genuinely relieved. He comes over to Haruka, leaning over on his side of the makeshift bed space. The both of them fall into silence as Makoto gathers the blankets around them, because it’s much too cold to be lying down like this outside without them.

“Makoto.” Haruka calls after him.

Makoto picks the biggest blanket for the two of them to share, spreading it out and lying down next to his best friend. 

“Yes, Haru?” he asks, softly.

“I haven’t seen stars for a long time.” Haruka confesses, if it’s anything to start with at all.

Makoto wrinkles his nose in curiosity at first, because Haruka knows this honestly sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but it’s real. All of this is _real._ He knows he has to ease Makoto into all of this, somehow.

“What do you mean?” Makoto asks. “Like...the ones in the sky?”

Haruka nods. “It’s just dark to me.”

“That’s odd.” Makoto remarks. “Glasses, maybe? You might need them.”

“I don’t think so.” Haruka almost wants to laugh. If only the answer were that mundane.

Makoto flips over onto his back, taking Haruka’s hand over the covers. “I mean...there aren’t many at all tonight, but...if you can’t see them, if you really can’t, I’ll _help_ you see them.”

“How?” Haruka turns to face him just as Makoto does the same. The other boy hums as he thinks about it, staring up and all around before finding the solution.

“I don’t know, actually, but I _will_ make sure you get to them again. Soon.” Makoto kisses Haruka softly on the bridge of his nose. “But for now, I guess I’ll kiss you for every star I see tonight.”

He starts off on the right foot by pulling Haruka closer to him, brushing his lips against his forehead like he’s checking for a fever again. Then comes a couple on his neck, like he’s trying to repair the ghosts of hickeys past. And then sweetly, firmly, he digs in for the type of kiss that bonds them more together than anything. Haruka shuts his eyes and accepts him, thinking that this is the type of warmth they find at the core of suns and stars—maybe even _galaxies_ , if he wants to exaggerate.

This goes on for a little while, before Haruka feels the need to separate himself for air.

“Thank...you.” Haruka breathes out, as he feels that familiar tremor pipe up at the back of his throat. He forces it back down before it can break him altogether.

Makoto beams up at him, pressing his thumb lightly underneath Haruka’s eye like he did this morning. His smile lightens up even more, which Haruka takes as a signal for, _‘I’m glad your eyes aren’t red anymore. I’m glad you’re not crying.’_

“I just...want things to be okay, you know?” Makoto sighs. “Because lately, no matter how _happy_ I’ve been to be with you, things have been odd, I think. I’m not sure you’ve felt it, too.”

Haruka swallows hard, just nodding along in apprehension. “Yeah.”

“And I really thought about it...what you told me before at the house. When you said that you were leaving.”

_‘No.’_ Haruka just feels like fainting on the spot.

“I think it really put things into perspective. I think I know why things have been so _weird_.” Makoto explains further.

_‘No. Please...please don’t tell me you already know.’_

“Because things are about to change, aren’t they?”

_‘Makoto.’_ Haruka pleads without the actual words.

“Because you’re leaving, as much as I’m leaving.” Makoto says, getting a bit choked up. “Because when spring comes, we’ll be in different schools...and we won’t get to be _here_ , like this. I think...that’s what I’ve been thinking about.”

_‘No...no, you’ve got it all wrong.’_

Haruka tries to hide the horror on his face, because Makoto can’t be any more wrong. Haruka _wishes_ it were just a matter of kilometers, not whole dimensions or realms or whatever impossible distance this was about to become _._ He holds onto his hand even harder, honestly more upset than he’s been the entire day, because he thinks he knows what Makoto’s about to say, and there’s just no way to stop him from saying it. 

“But I think, despite our distance, despite the fact that I’m leaving, and you’re leaving…” 

_‘No.’_  

_‘Makoto, please.’_

_‘Please.’_

“I’d still like to be with you, for a very, very long time.”

Haruka wonders if it’d be okay to disappear on the spot, because there’s just no way he can tell him, _‘I’m going to disappear from you.’_ Not now. Not when Makoto’s face reads so full of hope, with the sort of easiness that says, _‘we’re going to be okay.’_ Because as much as everyone is saying goodbye, pulling off their farewells with string lights and blankets and polaroid cameras, Makoto is far from that.

He’s saying _hello._

But before Haruka can tell himself to initiate his goodbye, to _just say it, just tell him you’re disappearing and that’s it_ , he kisses Makoto gently and looks him in the eye, telling him in the smallest voice possible—

“I think I’d like that, too.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! Sorry if it's been awhile! (Or if no one's even noticed, which is fine too!) I'm sorry this chapter is much longer than usual, but the next couple will be really fluffy and sort of this variety, I think. Um, anyhoo, I'm tired and I don't have much else to say! 
> 
> Come find me on @asplendidmoon on twitter and companions.tumblr.com!


	7. bluebird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _He knows it feels like running, like flying away from the fire._   
> 

 

** resolution seven: ** **find the gold in the green.**

**(forty nine days to go)**

 

Haruka finds himself smiling into the next kiss, humming softly as Makoto pushes his t-shirt halfway up his stomach and off altogether. Managing to glance up at the clock between long, sloppy kisses and the removal of clothes, Haruka discovers that they're already officially late for school (something that Makoto would usually object to, honestly) but Haruka welcomes this sort of ease with the morning. If it’s Makoto, he will take tenderness in any form.

Drowsily, he climbs up to Makoto's ear and whispers, weakly, "I want you."

Makoto reciprocates with a tucked head in the cove of Haruka's neck, running tactfully placed fingers through his hair and nibbling gently on the heated curve of his ear.

"I want you, too." he tells him right back.

As Makoto scoops him up and presses him down into freshly washed linens, taking his hand and delivering kiss after kiss, the latter decides that there are worse ways to start his second day. _Forty-nine to go_.

"Haru..." Makoto whispers against Haruka's temple, the soft push of air delivering shivers down Haruka's back and right back up again. Makoto is supremely delicate with the kisses he leaves, because he knows that this combined with the gentle call of his name is one way to get Haruka stirring. Makoto is a master at all of this by now, and he knows it.

Haruka hoists himself up to meet Makoto by the lips again. Faces kept close after parting, Makoto laughs and swoops in to kiss Haruka on the nose, making Haruka blink defensively in reflex.

"You know something?" He asks softly, really too exuberant for the likes of the morning. 

"Hm?"

"You have a very cute nose."

Haruka looks up with a small frown, stopping mid-smooch.

"It's just a nose." Haruka wonders if this is really the thing to say _in the moment._

"But it's _your_ nose."

“Hm.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.” Makoto laughs.

Haruka doesn't say anything further about this, opting to pull Makoto down on top of him to continue with their morning. There's really something strange in the fact that Makoto isn't scolding him about being late for school, something too easy about just lying in bed here and having Makoto in the way he likes him, and in all of this Haruka just wonders if it's possible to be this content about things. He guesses that—no, well, he _knows_ that—Makoto makes it that way.

So again, Haruka catches himself grinning mid make out, pressing his hands against the side of Makoto's reddened cheeks as they meet once more. _Happy._ He's not sure if he's allowed to feel like this, _happy,_ because he knows it's the last thing he should be with his limited days. He mouths the word because it's so unfamiliar, muttering it over and over again as Makoto lightens his kisses until they feel like air.

This is another sign of strangeness for Haruka: usually when Makoto reaches a certain point, his delicate ways turn into something much firmer. He shouldn't be working in reverse.

"Kiss me...kiss me more." Haruka breathes into him, practically pleading.

"Haru?" Makoto asks. The way he says Haruka's name feels like he sounding out the syllables. _Ha-ru_. Another oddity.

"Mm?" Haruka asks absentmindedly, head caught in a rush of heat, digging the side of his head into the security of his pillow.

No answer comes, but Makoto does take his hands off of Haruka altogether. The stark change in warmth, from enveloping to nothing, leaves him with goosebumps.

“ _Mako—”_  

"Haru." Makoto says, like he's trying the words out for the first time. It is a disconcerting sound to Haruka's ears.

Makoto stops kissing him, from full on lips to pecks to taps to _nothing_.

With eyes closed, Haruka tries to imagine that Makoto's just catching his breath, or taking his own shirt off now too, at least that’s what he tells himself, but when Makoto doesn't resume anything—the kissing, the touching—Haruka brings himself out of his dizziness and peeks up at him.

"Makoto?"

_'What's wrong?'_ Because something is definitely, undoubtedly _wrong._

"You're..." Makoto trails off, shifting his weight off of his best friend and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He's trembling at this point, eyes darting all around the room like he's never seen the place before. He shakes his head, mouthing Haruka's name, switching between _Haru_ and _Haruka_ and _Nanase,_ like all of this is foreign to him. Like he's trying to remember why the name rings so familiar in his head. Like he doesn't know the boy he's calling for is sitting right in front of him.

_'It can't be.'_

_'No—no...'_

"Makoto?"

Going for Makoto's hand, Haruka almost lets out an audible gasp when his best friend just shakes him free of the grip.

"I..." Makoto starts, but he's too caught up in looking at Haruka to continue.

_'No, not this. Anything but this.'_

"Makoto." Haruka pleads, shaking his head as he attempts to hold his hand again. This time Makoto just cowers away altogether, flinching at the touch of a boy he's known for years. The smile on his face is barely one at all, an attempt at being polite, but the horror on his face is palpable.

"Hey..." Haruka reaches out to him, but Makoto just backs away again. "Ma—" 

"Why am I here?"

"No, it's...it’s me, I'm..." Haruka feels his voice break. "Haruka. _Haru_."

_'Your Haru.'_

The smile comes right off Makoto's face. After what looks like a sincere attempt at recollection, at sorting through his messy mind for answers, it is clear that he has no idea who Haruka is.

_'I'm Nanase Haruka, and you love me.'_

_‘You love me, don’t you?’_

_'Makoto.'_

And out of the silence, Makoto's question cuts Haruka to ribbons.

"Who...are you?"

_whoareyou?_

_who are you?_

**_who are you?_ **

  
Makoto departs the room with his back turned, staring back over his shoulder before forcing himself to turn away from Haruka completely. There's a longing in the way he does it, like that last remnant of him is still stuck inside this outer shell, but that little flicker is not strong enough to make him look back for much longer. 

_who are you?_

"Makoto!"

Haruka nearly trips out of bed going after him, arm stretched out in an attempt to say, _'Please don't go.'_

“Don’t...don’t go!”

_who are you?_

_'I'm Haru,'_ Haruka tries to say again, kneeling down at the top of the stairs, knees bruised from hitting the ground too hard and fast. The front door slams behind Makoto, letting the cold draft of winter into the empty house. The pale morning light looks eerie in the emptiness.

_who are you?_  

"I'm...Nanase Haruka." he cries out, lying over his knees on the floor.

_who are you?_

"Haruka."

_who are you to me?_

_"Haru!"_ Haruka shouts in all futility.

And just like that, because it seems like Haruka's mind is good at fabricating further pain, Makoto appears under the stars again, soft in his stare, image fading just as he begins to laugh. His palm is outstretched for Haruka to take. The false memory calls out to him over and over and over and _over_.

**_who are you to me?_ **

"I'm..." Haruka breathes out, unable to finish his sentence. Stars dance where Makoto once stood, taunting him before falling out of the sky altogether.

' _I'm yours_.'

_'I'm yours!'_

 

  
Haruka jolts up from the dream, letting out a yelp that scares Makoto out of his slumber, too. Breathing hard into the blankets and letting the rush of cold air enter his lungs, he shakes his head repeatedly to get the remnants of fallen stars out of his vision. But try as he might, Haruka can't stop himself from shaking, even as Makoto holds him against the familiar warmth of his body under layers of quilted coverage. 

"Haru?" Makoto calls after him, still half-asleep. "Are you okay?"

When Haruka completely yanks himself out from the nightmare and into the cold, he realizes the two of them are still under the string lights in the empty pool. In the dark, with no sign of morning to come, Haruka takes the tiniest solace in the fact that _Makoto forgetting him_ has just been one unfortunate and terrible dream; but it had all felt too real—everything from Makoto's jokes about _noses_ , the hesitant refusal of his hand, and the bruises on his knees at the top of the stairwell.

Haruka usually doesn't believe in luck or bad omens or things of that sort, but he knows he cannot completely disregard this as just another silly dream.

"You..." Haruka chokes out without finishing. _You disappeared from me._

"Me?" Makoto asks, slightly bemused in his drowsiness. "Were you just dreaming?" 

Haruka nods without saying anything.

The legends say that telling someone about a dream will make it come true. If a friend dies in a dream, it's a bad omen to tell said friend about his respective demise. Haruka thinks it might be the same with the subject of _forgetting._ So, for the sake of keeping the highest precaution, he just clings onto Makoto tighter without a word, pulling on the lapel of his jacket and brushing away the moisture in his eyes without letting him see.

"Haru...hey, Haru." Makoto runs his hand through Haruka's hair, waking up fully to receive him in seriousness. " Hey, you're okay. It must've been a nightmare...just a bad dream. You're fine."

_who are you?_

Haruka just feels like screaming again, but his throat burns too much to do it.

“You’re fine, I promise.”

Haruka just tries to catch his breath and gulp down the aching lump in his throat. Makoto takes the liberty of brushing his lips against Haruka's head, wiping the light sweat under Haruka’s bangs off in an attempt at comfort. 

"You're shaking really hard." Makoto reaches for one of the undone blankets at their feet and wraps it around Haruka as he huddles closer to him for warmth. 

“I’m okay.”

“Let me take you home, Haru.”

“No.” Haruka answers him a little too quickly, gripping the cloth of Makoto’s coat between his fingers harder. The nightmare—Makoto’s cold and departing back, the pale light of an empty bedroom, the question, _‘who are you?’_ —still haunts Haruka in short, stabbing motions. His house had played a part in that dream, it had been the stage all for all things awful, so Haruka can't imagine how he'd be able to go back alone. At least for now, he tells himself that he'll stay here with Makoto. Because under the guise of string lights, the ghosts can't get him.

“We can’t sleep here, though.” Makoto searches for his phone to check the time. “It’s almost four in the morning.”

Haruka shakes his head, still buried in the confines of Makoto’s chest.

“Haru—” 

“Just a little longer.” Haruka tells him.

Makoto lets out a small sigh. The slow exhale deflates his chest, bringing Haruka with him and lulling him into some semblance of peace. It feels like having the side of his face pressed to a boat floor as it laps up the waves. Bobbing back and forth, slow and easy.

"Okay." Makoto coos into his ear. "Whatever you need."

Haruka clings onto him harder, wishing he could stop shaking this badly. Nuzzling his head under his chin, he wonders if Makoto can hear his wordless _sorry_.

_'I'm sorry, Makoto.'_

' _I'm sorry for making you stay here with me.'_

_'I'm sorry for all the trouble.'_

And lastly:

_'I'm sorry it has to be this way.'_

"It's okay." Makoto mumbles, like he's heard every apology. "You're okay."

_'Stop shaking so much.'_ Haruka tells himself. _'Stop, so Makoto can go home and sleep. Stop, so he doesn't have to worry this much about you.'_ But the thing is, he doesn't stop. He can't.

"Listen, Haru..." 

Haruka peers up at him, his temple beating in a frenzy against his skull.

"I'm here." Makoto tells him with eyes slightly squinted, lips turned up in a kind smile. There's a glow in his gaze that Haruka knows isn't from the cascade of string lights, but some simmering determination that shows up every so often, when Makoto’s sure about something. It's times like this where his usual green might as well read like gold, brilliant to the very core. 

At once, Haruka is calmed by the simple little stare from the boy of golden green, from the boy who hasn't forgotten him yet. As Haruka meets him for the real first kiss of the second day, pressing a little more urgently than what the morning usually calls for, Makoto wraps him up in his arms and does the same right back.

_'Stop shaking so much.'_ Haruka begs himself for the thousandth time. 

_'Stop shaking.'_

Makoto offers a small laugh and a kiss on the nose. 

_'Because dreams are just dreams.'_ Haruka tells himself.

He repeats the phrase over and over as the rain begins to fall lightly, filling the air with the smell of copper and the possibility of the oncoming spring.

_‘Dreams are just dreams.’_  

In the trees, birds chirp for the sun of a new day, still in denial over the storm to come.

 

 

**_Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5246: Otherworldly_ **

Hello, all. How are we all feeling today? Have you eaten proper meals, gotten enough sleep? The world is sure a cruel one sometimes, and I only hope for the best for all of you. Stay warm, stay cool, whatever it is you may need to do! I _myself_ have been keeping relaxed by looking for hotel accommodations for my upcoming trip to Singapore, and the thought of a vacation really soothes the spirits. Because, well... 

I hate to say this, but I cannot wait to leave Iwatobi soon. It is a lovely town (I will always have good things to say about the seafood)but the amount of the _otherworldly_ and the _supernatural_ that’s been popping up here in the area has really done a number on my fur!

You can smell the ectoplasm in the wind. The ghosts have gotten a little too loud at night, gossiping and whatnot, and I’m just not used to the gods walking around with everyone else, too. It’s a melding of worlds and a mixing of realms. The other cats are getting restless. The birds are singing songs I've never heard before.

But I guess that’s to be expected, when you have Nanase Haruka as a local attraction. _Nanase Haruka, the fifty day boy!_ I’m glad that a candidate of mine has found such a cult following.

Oh! And speaking of him—I actually passed by the high school where he attends earlier today, at approximately four-thirty in the morning. By chance, I found Nanase and his paramour, Tachibana Makoto, lying side by side at the bottom of the empty pool, taking in the sight of fake stars on a couple of dirty gym mats. Tachibana seems to be rather good at the game of sweet nothings, as he was periodically whispering them in Nanase Haruka's ear in what looked like _consolation_. I didn’t get to hear a lot of their conversation—at that point, it was a bunch of sleepy, half-coherent utterances anyway—but I did catch a few words here and there. The one that really caught my attention was the following: _nightmare._

This is how I know Nanase Haruka is close to disappearing. Nightmares come more often to those undergoing the last stages of their slow fade, showing glimpses of future loneliness, pieces of the other world they’ll belong to soon enough. _Bad omens_ , _harbingers_ , whatever it is you want to call it—just be wary of anything that comes to you in a dream, because it is surely a sign of the worst to come.

 

 

** resolution eight: ** **open your lines of communication.**

**(forty nine days to go)**

 

By the end of the second day, the rain still smells metallic and Haruka is the verge of falling asleep at his desk, broom in hand and gaze bobbing open and closed out the window. He's not sure if he's seeing things, because there should be no reason for four cats to be standing out in the downpour, hissing like no one's business. Undoubtedly, they all have their eyes on Haruka, presumably agitated by the oddity he has become, probably thinking, _'you surely don't belong here.'_ The clatter of rain drowns out their meows.

Almost amused, Haruka shuts the crack of window he has open, almost jumping right out of his seat when Makoto appears in the seat in front of him. Haruka must have been too distracted to notice him finishing up his monthly cleaning duty. Makoto waves pleasantly at the cats, who all begin to scurry away down the courtyard and into the bushes.

“Strange.” Makoto comments with a small yawn before setting down his dustpan on the floor. “There have been a lot of strays in this town lately.”

Haruka shrugs. “More for you to pet.”

“I guess so, yeah.” Makoto laughs a little, but it’s obvious that he’s more subdued than usual. He must be as tired as Haruka is, after having to stay with him so long at the empty pool, and it’s surprising that Makoto didn’t end up nodding off in class today. Letting his hand creep up the desk and right on top of the other boy’s, Haruka stares up at Makoto with the uncertainty of a spoken _sorry_ ; he wants to apologize for the bags under Makoto’s eyes, for his half-hearted approach to the day, his loose little laughs that just fall apart from fatigue, but he knows Makoto will just say one thing back to him, like he always does. 

_“Don’t be.”_

So Haruka doesn’t open his mouth to say it. But that doesn’t stop the guilt from resting at the back of his throat. 

“Say, Haru?” Makoto asks, tracing his finger over the condensation on the corner of the window.

“Yes?” Haruka answers him.

“When you were napping at your desk before,” Makoto remarks, "I heard you talking in your sleep.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Were you having a nightmare again?”

Haruka frowns and shakes his head, because he would have known if it were the same dream. This newest one was certainly of the peculiar sort, with glimpses of a flower shop he’s never seen before, blue petals, the sight of falling snow, the yellow dividing line of the street, and stars, because he’ll _always_ the dream up the stars, but this was no nightmare—just a random assortment of things and places of little importance.

“Ah.” Makoto doesn’t seem very satisfied by the answer.

“Why do you ask?”

Makoto raises his head to peer at the raindrops racing down the glass. His stare finds his way back to Haruka once more, initially lowered and dull from sleepiness but now rising up in worry. Makoto places his other hand on top of Haruka’s, warm and enveloping for a day of cold rain, and plays with his words before letting them slip out of his mouth.

“Well, you were calling my name.” Makoto answers Haruka. “And when I got closer to you, to see if you were awake...ah, I mean..."

"Out with it." 

"There were tears in your eyes, Haru."

Haruka honestly doesn’t remember this, but it’s not hard to believe either. 

“Like you said before, it was just a dream.” Haruka reiterates, trying not to quiver so much about this himself. “Dreams are nothing.” 

“I know, but seeing you like that isn’t something that sits right with me.” Makoto admits, shaking his head. “You looked really scared about something and—”

“If it’s something I can’t even remember, then don’t be bothered with it.” Haruka interrupts him, patience wearing thinner than usual. He’s not sure if he’s grouchy from the lack of sleep, and even if he is, Makoto’s the last person he should even be taking it out on.

_Dreams are just dreams_ , he tells himself again, in attempt to quell the panic churning in his stomach. Makoto shouldn’t be bothered with any of it. Haruka _refuses_ to tell him any of it. _Dreams are just dreams._ Haruka lets the sentiment echo over and over.

“I mean...did it have to do with the one you had this morning?” Makoto asks. “You were pretty shaken about that one.”

“I wasn’t _shaken._ ” Haruka refutes.

“ _Haru_.” There’s dismay in Makoto’s voice.

Haruka wrangles his hand over a couple of Makoto’s fingers, holding delicately. He lets his eyes lift up at Makoto furtively, a silent call to move onto the next subject, but Makoto doesn't seem to be in the mood to comply.

“There it is again." Makoto's face sinks into something more solemn, but his smile keeps him buoyed just above the surface. "That look.” Makoto shakes his head, his sigh extra long and huffy.

Otherwise known as,  _you can't fool me._  

“Haru, I will never ask you to tell me anything, not if you don't want to, but if there’s really anything wrong, you can confide in me. _Honestly_.” 

Frowning up at him, more so because he has no idea where to start, because Haruka _knows_ Makoto deserves to know about all of this, he still can’t bring himself to say a thing. The words dance in his head— _disappear, vanish, forget,_ and lastly, _goodbye, goodbye, goodbye—_ but none of them sound right when it comes to Makoto. Mostly because he tells himself that Makoto’s not the leaving type. 

“I…” Haruka starts. “Well...” Haruka lingers closer and closer to Makoto, genuinely searching for a way to talk about the matter of losing him, until he decides kissing him over the desk is a much better option. Kissing gives him the time to swallow down his sadness.

Makoto gives in for a moment, inhaling Haruka in like he’s needed the touch of him all day, but he doesn’t let it last for too long. He separates himself after what only feels like a couple of seconds, just like Haruka used to do with his _three second rule_ , and against the _pitter-patter_ of the rain this just scares Haruka more than anything. 

“Don’t…” Makoto brushes his lips against the back of his hand. “Kissing me won’t solve everything, Haru.” 

“Why can’t it?” The sliding of the entryway door masks the distress in Haruka’s voice, and just like that, Haruka has found himself a timely reprieve. 

Haruka and Makoto just offer each other a couple of seconds’ worth of stares, obviously embattled over the things they can’t solve, partly lamenting their gloomy start to really _being together,_ before diverting their attention back to their newest visitors. Haruka thinks he catches a glimpse of that golden green before turning away. 

“Mako-chan!”

“Makoto-senpai!”

Rei and Nagisa come barreling into the room, both of them ecstatic over the bags of homemade cookies they have in their hands.

After leaving the empty pool this morning and dropping Makoto off at his house (because he desperately needed _some_ sleep at that point, not extended cuddling time in the Nanase residence) Haruka had found that he still couldn’t sleep. _Sleep was cruel._ Every time he had felt his eyes grow heavy, star fields would begin to pop up at the back of his eyelids, and the sound of Makoto running down the stairs would pound against his skull like a house under heavy renovation.

So, in an attempt to avoid that same nightmare, Haruka had taken to making cookies in the kitchen as a _thank you_ gift for the three of them. He told Rin he’d drop his off at Samezuka sometime during the week, while surprising Rei and Nagisa was just a matter of leaving the gifts in their shoe lockers.

Makoto feigns a smile, although it obviously doesn’t work on the likes of Haruka. Rei and Nagisa are much too excited to even notice though, waving their presents in front of his face.

“Mako-chan, where did you buy these? Oh, _oh,_ don’t tell me you made them? Did you actually learn how to _bake?_ ”

“They’re so lovely, too! Fish-shaped? So beautifully cut.”

Haruka had made them fish-shaped for them to get the hint. _'I made them,'_ he repeats over and over in his head.

Makoto looks over to Haruka and then back at the second-years.

“I didn’t make these.” Makoto tells them.

“Oh, so you bought them, then?” 

“No, I didn’t—”

“Then, was it your mom—”

“Isn’t it obvious who made these?” Makoto asks, voice slightly raised. Haruka lifts his head shyly at the whole scene, and all at once the rest of the swim club stares over at him, too. Makoto just seems frustrated, completely _over_ this afternoon, while Nagisa and Rei look like its their first time seeing Haruka at all.

Their faces morph into something resembling puzzlement, as if to say, _‘wait, were you there this whole time?’_

“Haru-chan, you can cook?” Nagisa asks, out of genuine delight. “Thank you, Haru-chan!”

“Yes, what a charming assortment...who knew you were so talented, Haruka-senpai?”

“Ah—” Haruka starts. 

" _Guys_." Makoto calls with softness, but he's obviously irritated. 

“Yes, Makoto-senpai?” 

“I don’t really like this game you’ve been playing.”

“Huh? Mako-chan?”

Haruka notices he still has Makoto’s hand in his when the other boy squeezes harder on the desk. Rei and Nagisa look down too, innocent in all of this. For once, the both of them are speechless. 

It’s not their fault they’re forgetting. 

“You’ve been forgetting to call Haru’s name...forgetting to invite him to things unless I remind you two. Why are you pretending you don’t know him? It’s _Haru_ we’re talking about here. What kind of prank is this?”

Rei shakes his head. “Makoto-senpai, we’re not—”

“But aren’t you?” Makoto cuts in again. “Nagisa?”

“Honestly, no, Mako-chan!”

Haruka just clenches Makoto’s hand harder on the table. 

Silence hits the room, leaving nothing but the frenzied rattle of a late-afternoon downpour. Frantic and fettered. 

“Nagisa...Rei.” Haru calls out to both of them, a small smile forming on his face, a rare, but saving grace for the tension in the room. “I’m glad you like the cookies. Eat them well.”

Nagisa takes that as his cue to grab Rei by the arm and depart the room altogether. They both leave the queasiest smiles Haruka's ever seen, looking over their shoulders in fleeting worry, but they ultimately end up turning their backs without anything else to say, door sliding closed behind them. 

_'Goodbye.'_ Haruka says to himself like he's done every chance he's gotten to see them, because he's just never sure if they'll remember him next time. He's willing to place bets that this time will come soon.

Getting up from his seat and trying to distract himself from malady of bad thoughts, Haruka goes to sweep up the dust on the floor as he waits for Makoto regroup himself from his own grouchiness. Makoto might get _annoyed_ or _frustrated_ for short spurts of time, but bad moods don't usually surface this much. And when they do, it takes him just a little while to work through it.

At least, Haruka hopes for the shorter end of _a little while._  

“I’m sorry.” Makoto says, with the embarrassed shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be talking to them like that. I know they’re just playing around, but it’s not funny to me.” 

Haruka starts sweeping at Makoto’s feet, playfully letting the bristles touch the edge of his shoes.

“You’re just tired.” Haruka remarks simply, trying to keep his heart from jumping out of his throat. Because at this point, none of this is a game between two bored underclassmen, but the symptoms of an affliction called _forgetting,_ and it has taken all the energy Haruka left in his system to pretend that it's something much lighter. 

“I’ll apologize to them later. I really do feel bad.”

“You were still gentle with them, either way.” Haruka notes. “I don’t think they’ll take anything too hard.” 

“Still.” Makoto sighs.

"You'll be fine."

“Like...how do I go about saying _sorry_ and _stop playing these games_ at the same time?”

"Just let them play." Haruka forces himself to say.

"It just leaves me with a weird feeling in my stomach, whenever they do it."

"You're just tired."

As Haruka goes on sweeping, mind too distracted to be paying attention to the dust balls sneaking off under the radiator, silence hits them like a small town the early morning. 

"Sometimes it feels like I'm going crazy." Makoto sighs into the stifled air of the empty classroom.

“You're not crazy." Haruka looms an inch or two closer to him. "Just a little cranky." 

Makoto shows a listless smile and reaches out for Haruka’s hand, letting his fingers climb up his wrist before holding onto him altogether. Haruka drops his broom as Makoto pulls him closer, sighing deeply into the confines of his best friend’s chest in a hug. Haruka thinks it’s his turn to wrap himself around Makoto today, letting the other boy rest in his possession.

“Haru.” Makoto's call is barely that at all. 

“Yes?”

“I heard you, before the two of them came in.” Makoto remarks. “You asked me, _why can’t it?_ _Why can’t kissing, being like this, solve everything?_ That’s what you meant, right?”

He should've known. Nothing gets past Makoto. 

Haruka shakes his head to ward off his best friend's suspicions. “You must’ve heard wrong," he tells Makoto, voice laced with just the slightest bit of doubt. He knows he's screwed up the moment the answer leaves his lips. 

“No matter how tired I am, I will always hear what you have to say, Haru.”

“Ah.” Haruka replies simply, scolding himself for always falling prey to Makoto's little affirmations. He just nods along, feeling slightly stupefied. Maybe he's just that sleepy.

“So...there’s something wrong, then? I’m not going crazy?”

Letting his lips hang slightly open, Haruka watches Makoto’s eyes light up in what he thinks is an incoming answer, a sought-after explanation. But as Haruka breathes Makoto’s name, quiet under the thumping of the rain, the latter’s shoulders sink in disappointment, in _exhalation_ , resigning himself to welcome Haruka’s kiss after all. Haruka leans into him, letting Makoto ease into their usual rhythm, gripping onto the window pane as Makoto holds him by the waist to kiss back harder.

_'Dreams are just dreams.'_

_'I'm disappearing.'_  

_'Dreams are just dreams.'_

_'I'm disappearing.'_

The thoughts pull back and forth, up like crests and down like troughs on the negative side of an axis. Haruka hates being caught in this wavelength. 

"Haru."

Again, Makoto parts himself abruptly from Haruka's kiss. But this time, he leaves himself nestled in his shoulder, his breathing hard and shaky. Like he wants to cry in frustration.

“Go home.” Haruka whispers into Makoto’s ear, hugging him close. “Go to sleep, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“But I wanted to walk home with you.”

It’s another way of Makoto saying, _‘I want to talk to you about things.’_ It’s another way of saying, _‘No matter what’s going on in your head, I want to be together with you.’_  

With a kiss on Makoto’s forehead, Haruka just leaves a miserable little smile in his wake. As much as he’d like to spend his last days being _together_ , there are some things he needs to consider alone. _Just for a little while._  

“Go home.” Haruka urges again, but only in the most nurturing way. “I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

Makoto stares up at Haruka again, his gold and green slightly dulled, reciprocating that half-hearted beam, the type of the smile born out of weariness. Haruka traces the dark circles under his eyes and lets Makoto kiss him, doing the one thing he said he’d avoid. 

_“Kissing me won’t solve everything, Haru.”_

Haruka knows it won’t, but it certainly hurts less than other options.

"Okay. I think I will today."

He knows it feels like running, like flying away from the fire.

 

* * *

  

**Tachibana Makoto [17:54PM JST]**  
Haru, just texting to tell you I got home! Please don’t stay in school too late, okay? 

**Tachibana Makoto [17:55PM JST]  
** And really...if you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.

  

**Tachibana Makoto [02:15AM JST]**  
Haru, it’s still raining pretty hard out there. There was a leaky roof at your place, last time that happened. Just letting you know—make sure to check!

**Tachibana Makoto [02:16AM JST]**  
Also, I can’t sleep. It’s just...I guess...I don’t know. I’m not even sure what this message is about. I’m being weird.

 

**Tachibana Makoto [02:21AM JST]  
** I’ll try getting back to sleep now. I hope you’re asleep by this point, already.

 

**Tachibana Makoto [7:45AM JST]**  
Haru, are you okay? I don’t mean to text you so much, but your door was locked and you’re not answering your phone.

**Tachibana Makoto [7:47AM JST]  
** I’m guessing you’re not coming to school today?

 

 

**Tachibana Makoto [10:25AM JST]  
** I saw a bluebird by the window today. It kind of reminded me of you.

**Tachibana Makoto [10:26AM JST]**  
Ah, there goes another strange text.

**Tachibana Makoto [10:27AM JST]  
** I guess it’s just kinda weird when you’re not sitting next to me.

**Tachibana Makoto [10:28AM JST]  
** I’ll stop now.

 

**Tachibana Makoto [12:36PM JST]**  
I’ll drop by later today, if you want me to...and if you still need your alone time, which is completely fine, would you at least let me know you’re okay?

**Tachibana Makoto [12:36PM JST]  
** Somehow?

  

 

**Nanase Haruka [14:46PM JST]  
** I’ll come find you when I’m ready.

 

* * *

 

 

** resolution nine: ** **there are some things you need to face alone.**

**(forty eight days to go)**

 

On the third day, he spends all of it alone, drifting in and out of restlessness.

"Makoto!"

Haruka wakes up again after Makoto slams the door and the stars burn out in droves. In the darkness, he reaches out into thin air for the boy he can’t reach.

_who are you?_

Pounding a fist into the mattress and forcing himself out of his most recent nightmare, the third in a span of two days, Haruka is more used to trembling than not. He’s dreamt this same dream, over and over—the pale light of morning, Makoto’s realization, the stars—and none of it should be a surprise anymore. He should _know_ it’s a dream when he lives through it, as soon as Makoto makes that first joke about his nose or the first instance Haruka says, _‘I want you.’_ Nightmares shouldn’t get to him like this anymore. 

Still, the warmth of imaginary lips—Makoto’s lips—sticks against his temple, truer than true. Haruka slides his cold hand across the side of his face to chase away the false tenderness.

_who are you?_  

Rolling over to face the window, he meets the heavy rain. It has taken him longer and longer to re-associate himself with reality after each nightmare; he’ll forget where he’s ended up sleeping, or what time of day it is, like his dreams are inching their way closer and closer into the living world. They’re coming for him, whatever _that_ means in the grand scheme of things, but Haruka feels it in every inch of his body from his taste buds to his toes. _They’re coming for him_.

Makoto’s voice, hushed in confession under the string lights, drapes itself across Haruka’s hazy head, in an attempt to bring him back into the living world.

_“I’d still like to be with you, for a very, very long time.”_

Haruka holds his pillow to his face and feels like screaming into it, but no sound emerges.

How sad that he can’t even dream about the _delusion_ of _a long time_ these days. 

Sitting up in bed, Haruka wipes away the moisture in the pit of his eyes and reaches for his phone, yanking it off the charger and searching for Makoto’s name under his favorites. With his finger hovering over the _call_ button, he makes himself press it before hanging up not three seconds later. More than anything, he’d like to hear the sound of Makoto’s voice right now, light, with a hint of depth at the back of his throat. 

_“I’d still like to be with you, for a very, very long time.”_

"Stop." Haruka pleads of himself.

Still, Makoto’s words fill Haruka’s every empty gap of thought—resounding past the missed calls and texts, the locking of all his doors, and every attempt he makes to say, _‘I just need my space,’_ because Haruka has to admit, if he can’t admit anything else, that the warmth of his words drags him in from the cold.

_“No matter how tired I am, I will always hear what you have to say, Haru.”_  

Funny how a few utterances can do that.

_“I’d still like to be with you, for a very, very long time.”_

_“I think I’d like that, too.”_

Haruka peers down at his phone again, tempted to call before he’s interrupted by the sound of meowing outside. When he gapes out the window and down on the ground, he spots a black cat pawing at the wall of his house, mewing over and over as a plea to let him in from the storm. Taking heightened suspicion, Haruka looks for little yellow rain boots or cat-sized reading glasses, finding none of those accessories on him. Ultimately, he decides it is _not_ another cosmic messenger, and that if he can’t let Makoto in, he might as well give some concessions to a stray caught in the rain. 

He finds his hoodie draped over his desk chair and slips it on haphazardly, running down the stairs and unlocking the door to wander outside. After a few seconds worth of searching, blood rushing to his head for getting up too fast, Haruka finds the black cat pawing at something in the alleyway next to his house. Upon closer inspection, Haruka finds a dead bird in the cat's clutches, curiously blue and rare for these parts, rolled over and tarnished in the grime. 

Haruka stays absolutely still as the cat throws his head up and meows at Haruka, all delivered in a low and impatient drawl. The cats he knows don’t sound a thing like this one.

This cat is here to say, _‘you are absolutely ruined.’_

“I know.” Haruka whispers, not meant to be heard above the smatter of rain hitting the pavement. He knows it all means the same, whether he’s dreaming or sifting through the tangible. _You're disappearing._ No one needs to remind him. 

Haruka reaches under his sleeve and pinches himself firmly on the underside of his wrist, wincing when he confirms this isn’t some sort of surreal dream. At times like this, it feels like his worlds are mixing together. A black cat and a bluebird. The falling rain that smells like metal shavings. This is all real and there's no getting around it. 

“Forty-eight days.” He reassures the cat, wherever he may be from. Eyes lock in mutual understanding. 

“You can all have me in forty-eight days.” 

The cat seems satisfied with the answer, lifting his paw off its prey and leaving it alone altogether. They keep their eyes locked—bone-tired blue on emboldened yellow—like they’re waiting for each other to start a conversation. 

“Can you tell me something?” Haruka asks, as if this is the cosmic cat he’s known along. As if this cat will give him the answers the other couldn’t.

The cat tilts his head to the side, innocently swatting at his own dampened fur. Haruka takes it as a sign to proceed with his question. 

“How do you tell someone you’re disappearing?”

_Meow._ Certainly unhelpful.

“How can…anyone…” he stops himself from asking another question when the cat starts rubbing itself against Haruka’s shin.

He has no idea why he thought this would work. Maybe he's been cooped up in the house by himself for too long. Maybe he's gone too long without sleep. As he struggles to find the next question to ask, it comes to the point where he neglects the sound of footsteps coming his way.

“ _Haru_?”

Instantly mortified, Haruka shuts his mouth without another word. The familiar silhouette of his best friend looms long behind Haruka, keeping him safe from the rain with an umbrella made for two. When Haruka makes his sudden turn to face Makoto under the yellow vinyl of his umbrella, the cat runs away and leaves without his little prize, disappearing down the pavement and up the street. Haruka looks after the feline's dashing feet, which disappears in a quick, dark blur, paws hitting puddles with a splash. _Run away._ With knees shaking at the thought of the boy right in front of him, their lack of _togetherness_ for the past day and a half, Haruka doesn't think running away is terrible idea at this point. 

Maybe that is the stray cat's answer.  _Run away._

"Ah...you're soaking." Makoto takes the liberty of wiping some of the dripping moisture from Haruka's cheek with the dry sleeve of his jacket. And instead of running away, Haruka finds himself drawn closer to Makoto, to the point where the tips of their toes are physically touching. 

"Makoto." Haruka says, like his name is no big deal, but the lightness in his last syllable betrays him, squeaking out, _‘I missed you.’_

Flushed, Makoto just offers back a funny grin, like he's trying just a little too hard to break what he might think is a residual tension, but Haruka takes his hand to tell him, _'don't worry, there's none of that.'_ Still, he can't help but avoid Makoto's gaze after a while, and for that his best friend just holds onto his hand harder. Neither one of them can find the right things to say. 

"How about we talk after we pay our respects?” Makoto suggests with no hint of crankiness. The extra warmth in his palm signals that he's gotten enough sleep. 

Haruka looks over his shoulder, at the torn mix of blood and feathers.

"Ah...yeah." He cannot bring himself to look for too long.

Makoto goes over to the bird, feathers soaked with a mix of blood and rainwater. Handing Haruka his umbrella, Makoto crouches down to say a small prayer, mouth hidden behind hands clapped together. He bows his head shortly and Haruka feels himself doing the same in respect, eyes still fixed on Makoto’s hunched back. 

“Rest well, little bluebird.” His voice is small and personal as he makes his prayers.

 

 

After Makoto and Haruka carefully pick up the remains the bluebird and bury it in the backyard, almost no conversation exchanged between them the entire time, the two of them quietly go back into Haruka’s house, wash their hands clean of dirt and rain, and end up toppling over each other in a day’s worth of longing. Haruka is the first to initiate their kisses, despite his reservations about alone time, despite all of his proclamations about needing to figure things out by himself, and lets himself get washed away.

Makoto runs his hands through Haruka’s hair, laying down kisses on his temple, on his cheek, his neck, his nose, pressing his weight up on top of him as they dig into each other on the floor. Haruka wraps an arm around him, desperate to just have Makoto squeeze all the fatigue out of his system, to erase the thought of running black cats and nightmares and the death of stars. 

He pleads, ' _please let me forget.'_

_'Let me run away with you, in my own way.'_

"Haru, we shouldn't be doing this." Makoto stops midway through another kiss of his, keeping himself pressed to Haruka's cheek. He's breathing hard, obviously straining himself in holding back in completely having his way with Haruka.

"Why not?" Haruka asks. "I _want_ you." That should do the trick.

"I want you, too, of course I do," Makoto tells him. "But..."

"But what?" 

"I don't feel right, doing this, when..." Makoto must be struggling to get his words out with Haruka kissing him so affectionately, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. " _Haru. Please._ "

"Isn't this what new couples do? Spend time like this?"

Makoto swallows. "Y-yeah, I mean, but not like this—not when you clearly have something on your mind. I wouldn't feel right about it. I _don't_ feel right about it."

Haruka lies back on the floor and closes his eyes, his lids feeling heavy the second he closes them. 

"It's fine." Haruka struggles peer up at Makoto in the dim light, breathing hard with his body a shaking mess. This is what a lack of sleep will do to him. This is what _nightmares_ will do to him. 

“It’s fine.” His voice shrinks further, threatening to close up entirely. Still, he reassures Makoto with those repeated words, mouthing them only in a way he'll be able to decipher, lips spread and shut in assertion. A weak and withered effort to get Makoto to believe him. 

_'It's fine.'_  

"Haru." Makoto doesn't believe the first utterance. Of course he doesn't.

_'I'm fine.'_  

"Please...Haru." Makoto cups the side of the other boy's face, rubbing a thumb over the soreness under Haruka’s eye. They must be noticeably red by now, judging how much it stings from the touch. 

"We're fine." Haruka finally insists, grabbing Makoto's wrist and lifting himself to kiss him again. He lets his entire weight fall against the arm propping him up, throwing an arm over Makoto as he finally kisses him back. Haruka pours the words against Makoto's skin, _It's fine, I'm fine, we're fine,_ sweet and gentle fatigue overwhelming his every sense he uses to take in Makoto. His boy of gold and green, rhythm of breath like a boat on the calm seas. A boy who's safe enough to fall asleep to.

"Ah, are you..." Makoto gets pulled down with Haruka as he collapses onto to the floor, overwhelmed from two days' worth of absolute sleeplessness.

_It's fine—I'm fine—we're fine,_ Haruka breathes in and out, _in and out_. He tugs Makoto closer to him, hands slipping from the hem of his shirt, head sinking into the bend of the arm laid out under him. 

"Makoto." Haruka murmurs. 

And because he tells himself that all is right in their world, because he tells himself black cats and dead bluebirds don't mean anything but the natural, circuitous motion of life, because he says that _dreams are just dreams_ and the right words are too much trouble to say, and because all _isn't_ well between _Haruka and Makoto_ , the former just lets a few words slip out before going under.

"Let's run away together,” he starts in an audible voice, half-dreaming already.

Soon darkness is all Haruka sees behind his eyelids. A bluebird sings underneath the renewed stars.

“Let’s go, Makoto.” Hands clasp together. 

And when those stars begin to fade away, the Makoto in his dream disappears from sight, too.

"Before you forget me forever."

 

 

**  
  
resolution nine:  ** **there are some things you need to face alone** _—_ part two.

**(forty seven days to go)**

 

By the morning, with the world still dimmed and dead asleep, Haruka wakes up from dreamlessness, next to Makoto on the same place on the floor.

"Makoto." Haruka breathes against his ear, but he just stirs a little in his sleep and incoherently mumbles ' _Haru.'_ He is extra careful not to wake Makoto when he unclasps their hands and sits up on his knees to lean over him, using the fleeting warmth still trapped between his fingers to wipe away the moisture in the corner of Makoto's eyes. He whispers his apologies in the form of parting kisses, shaking his head because he had never meant to say anything about _forgetting_. Haruka remembers falling asleep cursing himself for this. 

Makoto frowns as he continues to sleep. No doubt he'll still be upset when day comes, but Haruka won't be here to find out for sure.

"I'm sorry." Haruka tells him.

_'I'm sorry, Makoto.'_

' _I'm sorry for leaving you here like this.'_

_'I'm sorry for all the trouble.'_

And lastly:

_'I'm sorry it has to be this way.'_

Going upstairs, Haruka quietly packs his things _—_ shirts, socks, underwear, pants, a haul big enough for maybe a week alone, maybe just a bit less _—_ before finding a jacket warm enough for the chill of early spring. He takes the two Polaroids he has of Makoto, one under the string lights, the other under the hazy sunset glow, and looks at them fondly before slipping them into his pocket for safekeeping.  He thinks of taking his _goodbye_ list with him too, but he just decides to leave it on the top of his desk, tucked partially away into one of his textbooks. He shuts the door behind him, shaking off the last figment of a well-known nightmare on the way.

Laying a blanket over Makoto and slipping his house key in the palm of his hand, Haruka creeps out of the house and looks out into the blank canvas of a day not yet born. The cat he knows, the cosmic messenger, waits for him at the top of the stairs with an envelope of cash, a plane ticket, and written instructions.

"Took you long enough," The cat tells him, "But I have everything you asked for."

"Thank you."

Haruka offers a curt little nod and picks up the documents from the floor, scanning them to make sure everything is in order. He is in no mood to make extensive conversation with the cat.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" the cat asks anyway. "All because you're too scared to tell him?"

In the grayness of the morning, on the same steps where he first kissedTachibana Makoto under the summer sun _,_ on the same steps where he made his chalk-drawn hearts and watched two sparklers fade and die out, Haruka poses a question to the cosmic cat.

“How do you tell someone you’re disappearing?”

And the cat, despite his eons of wisdom and pent-up wisecracks, doesn't answer him.

Instead, in reverence over the unknown, their eyes just follow the blur of a bluebird taking off from the roof of the Tachibana house. It swoops upward, towards the endless clouds, before making a headfirst dive towards the ground. Some might say that this is still flying, that the bluebird will find a way to run in parallel with the world before crashing, but no matter how Haruka looks at it, no matter how he wills it to be something else, it all just looks like falling. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! Thank you for reading another sappy installment of Heart's Departure ;o; I am grateful to those who keep reading and commenting (which is always encouraged! I'm so sorry I haven't gotten back to any comments, I promise I'm reading though...) I'm a lot more vocal on my twitter (@asplendidmoon) and I check my tumblr asks (companions.tumblr.com) a lot more frequently, too. 
> 
> It's kinda a slow build to the slow fade at this point, I think...
> 
> Anyway, I'll keep this short, since it's the holidays and all! For a small music spotlight, I listened to Xion's Theme (from Kingdom Hearts) on repeat, followed by my usual playlist when writing this q_q (which I've compiled into this dandy 8tracks mix here, because I have no life http://8tracks.com/cavalcade/you-re-disappearing) ANYWAY that's all for today!!


	8. makoto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Nanase Haruka._ ” she muses. “That would’ve been a beautiful name, I think, for a son.” 

 

The first time Makoto tastes the bitterness at the back of his throat, it is not yet ripe enough to put into words. Instead of finding it, Makoto bites it back and swallows, filling himself up with the sort of reluctant joy he’d never think to look for.

" _Haru._ " Makoto breathes against the softness of Haruka's temple, his skin warm and smooth on his lips. It's just like he'd always imagined it. 

Makoto and Haruka are sixteen the first time they have sex, and the only thing the former knows, at this point, is that he adores his best friend more than anything. As Makoto kisses Haruka again and again, the other writhing in trembling moans, he takes the time again to run his hands against the skin he's always, _always_ wanted to touch, reverentially concentrated in noticing every beautiful inch of the boy named Nanase Haruka. He will love him like a slow and never-ending song.

“ _Haru._ ” 

Haruka doesn't say anything back to him, but his breath hitches harder at the repeated call of his name. _Ha-ru._ Slightly strained. Nice and slow. Makoto sings his name again, whispering it into his ear and dragging it down his neck, the sound of it becoming weaker and weaker with every new thrust, and each push threatening to envelop him altogether. _Haru—Haru—Haru._ Haruka attempts to mouth Makoto’s name back too, trying to return the favor but never finishing, always incomplete, but Makoto will take anything Haruka can give him.

“ _Ma...ko…”_

" _Haru_ ," the name comes once more. And again, Haruka falls prey to it with another breathy little whimper. His fingers climb up Makoto’s shoulder blades and drop with a longing drag against the skin of his back. Haruka’s hands feel warm but the touch of them comes erratically, fading fast before finding him again. 

 _“Haru.”_ Haruka’s chest rises and falls like the frantic tide before a storm. His head rolls back on the pillow like he’s stretching to see stars past the ceiling.

 _“Haru.”_ When their eyes finally meet this time, faces close and breaths mixed, Makoto thinks that Haruka’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. When they kiss, Haruka falls away first. 

“Ma...koto.” 

At Haruka’s first utterance of his name, weak but still flickering, Makoto’s sure he might just die on the spot. When Haruka opens his eyes and stares at Makoto again, face to face, foreheads touching, this is when Makoto understands what the call of _Haru_ means to him. Privately, _selfishly,_ this is when he comes to realize that he’d like to say Haruka’s name forever, with his trailing just a little behind like a small candlelight.

 _'Haru.'_  

_'Makoto.'_

Because to him, _if being together is really a possibility_ , he thinks they might not always have to be in the same place, like this in the same bed. But as long as Haruka can call out, in his own small voice, Makoto will hear him. He will see the light on the horizon. Makoto will call after Haru himself, over and over, just so that he might be able to follow the sound of it back to him.

However, the off-chance of Haruka not finding him presents itself, too.

“Ah.” Makoto accidentally utters in trying to stop himself from thinking about this further. It’s a strange and lingering thought, and it almost feels like that same bitterness he still has no name for. Well, _no,_ there is a name for the taste. _Leaving._ Maybe something a little more dramatic than that.

 _Goodbye?_ There should be no reason for goodbyes.

 _Farewell?_ Makoto lets the bitterness paint the roof of his mouth until it’s numb.

 _‘Stop,’_ He tells himself to swallow down this nonsensical sadness. _‘He’s right here. There’s no reason for you to think this way.’_

With eyes squeezed shut, his mind attempts to drum up something else. After a moment of blankness, of wandering around in a second's worth of vagrancy, a small flickering light appears. Makoto runs closer to it, like he's been searching for eons and eons.

It's Haruka in the darkness, under a starless night with a single sparkler, half-alive but still burning. Even in false memories and dreamed-up fairy tales, devised in the dizziest seconds of their most intimate moments, Haruka will always be there.

“Makoto?” The Haruka under him is calling him back into reality.

But before Makoto lets the vision fade away, every far-off sun in the universe illuminates for Haruka, and for a moment it seems like he’s never seen stars from the way his eyes light up. The sparkler dies out, but it doesn’t matter, because once one star dies, another is reborn, and they have billions upon billions of them to pick from. But before Haruka does get to pick, the momentary dream fades out altogether. It ends on him smiling, faintly, at something Makoto doesn’t understand. 

With eyes shut closed, the image already faded from his memory, the bitterness still remains, _goodbye_ and _farewell_ perched and ready to be said, but there’s a tinge of sweetness to it that Makoto will never be able to explain. He opens his eyes to face Haruka again, still shaking with something inexplicably sad. Perhaps the word is bittersweet.

"Haru." Makoto says again, back in the real world. Haruka’s eyes linger up at Makoto and he keeps them there, momentarily breaking the gaze in a closed-eye sigh. 

“You know I’ll always be here, right?” he says, out of no where, even when he barely has the air to breathe. Makoto has this strange sense that this is something Haruka needs to hear, at this exact moment in time. 

Hands slide off Makoto’s back again. Haruka meets him once more, blue eyes lowered in a small, pained frown. It crumbles into something hopeless, and for a moment it just breaks Makoto altogether; he thinks he’s been broken several times today already, but this is the kind of dissolution that makes his knees buckle and his arms fall loose and languid. This is the sort of face he never wants to see on anyone. It is tinged with all things _goodbye,_ all things _farewell._

“How can you be so sure of that?” Haruka asks between tired, huffy breaths, looking like he’s about to pass out.

Despite the way his body aches, it only takes half a second for Makoto to find the answer.

“Because it’s...you.”

“Because I…” Makoto starts, unsure if he’s really allowed to say what he wants to say next. “I…”

 _‘I love you,’_ he wants to say. ‘ _I will always, always love you.’_

And of course, because it's Haruka, because they are like children's stories to each other, read over and over again until they've become oral tradition, he knows the moment is about to come, too. Makoto expects the usual motions—averted eyes, head tilted to the side—Haruka's sure defense against all things tender, but it never comes.

Instead, blue eyes lock on and hands are held. Haruka's trembling. His lips part open and closed in heavy breath in an attempt to say something. His gaze is lowered in complete and utter helplessness.

This is a story Makoto hasn't read before, but he knows it all too well anyway. Haruka is pleading, in his own far-off way, _'Please, please don't say what you're about to say.'_

So Makoto doesn’t.

In fact, he doesn’t say anything else, not even his name, because it only seems to hurt him. Makoto just kisses Haruka tenderly, carefully, keeping his bitter mouth busy. It's funny what words can do.  

 _‘I love you.’_ He still lets the thought resound, over and over, only letting the empty space at the back of his head receive his sentiments.

_‘I love you.’_

In the darkness, under the blankets, under the sun, amongst the stars.

_‘I will always, always love you.’_

 

* * *

 

 

Makoto is beginning to wonder if the stars are following the two of them around, wreaking havoc like a dark but dazzling omen.

“I haven’t seen stars for a long time," Haruka tells him, his voice small.

Wrinkling his nose, Makoto tries his best to feign curiosity, but he thinks, briefly, that if he were to bite into a star, he would have to spit it right back up from the taste. That familiar bitterness emerges on his tongue, something Makoto thought he’d eradicated time and time again, with every time he’s kissed Haruka, with all the small smiles exchanged, with all the times he’s taken the other boy’s hand. Sometimes he feels like a child about this, whenever he feels like shouting, _‘I’m not going to lose him!’_ because there should be no reason he would lose Haruka in the first place. 

But he feels it. Of _course_ he does, with every muscle, bone, and fiber in his body.

Again, Makoto feels like a child when he starts to think, _‘I hate these stars and what they do to us,’_ as if these far-off bodies have anything to do with them at all.

“What do you mean?” Makoto asks anyway. “Like...the ones in the sky?” He feels stupid for even having to ask, because he knows the answer to this already. There can be no other sorts of stars, because this is _Haruka_ , and they’re the only types to match his gravity—always up in the sky, all light and untouched, yet unfathomably filled with depth. Sinking further into space.

But Makoto doesn’t like to think about anyone sinking. He hates remembering pulling Haruka from the water a little more than a week ago, his body small but heavy like an anchor, unmoving and unbreathing. Dead for just the smallest space of time. And even though he's here right in front of him now, rosy-cheeked and warm with life, Haruka might as well be a star going into its next phase, somehow collapsing into himself. 

It's almost ironic, being at the bottom of this pool.

Haruka nods back to him. "It's just dark to me."

The next words come out of Makoto with pleasantness, as if it is a reflex to preserve the levity left between the two of them. Some might call this blissful ignorance. 

"That's odd." _It's more than odd._ Makoto knows this.

"Glasses, maybe? You might need them." _What a ridiculous thing to say._  

"I don't think so." Haruka tells him, shaking his head a little, obviously still afraid. Haruka being anxious makes Makoto ten thousand times more so, and the moment he feels his breath quicken over this, about Haruka's impossible lack of stars, he flips onto his back and scans upward at the sky. 

Before he peers up, he makes a small prayer to the heavens and takes Haruka's hand instead of clapping his own together.

_'Take them away from me, too, so Haru doesn't have to be alone in this.'_

But when he finds the will to stare up, peering past the hazy glow of string lights and the roaming beams of airplanes, it is the clear the stars have not left him. He cannot join Haruka in his starless place.

"I mean, there aren't many at all tonight, but..." He says to Haruka, before trailing off from what he thinks is insensitivity. He scolds himself for not picking his words more carefully. Haruka just stares at him, eyes wide and glassy. 

"If you can't see them, if you really can't, I'll _help_ you see them." He continues, with a little more gusto.

"How?" The question that leaves Haruka's lips comes in the same way as their first time in bed together. He's doubtful in a way Makoto never wants him to be doubtful. He's doubtful in a way that Makoto can't help but be, too.

 _'I'm leaving,'_ Haruka had told him on the floor of his bedroom not an hour before.

Makoto edges out a nervous little hum. There's just nothing he can say to Haruka at this point. The words of departure sting at his mouth _,_ impatient at the chance at finally being said, because they're both going to go their separate ways by the spring. But he knows, deep down, that this is more than just a matter of going to different schools or being separated by cities. Again, it is a sensation he does not understand. It is a sensation he will not _seek_ to understand.

"I don't know actually, but I _will_ make sure you get to them again. Soon." Makoto says, defying the feeling altogether. A smile creeps onto his face, slightly forced, before settling back into its usual stretch.

"But for now, I guess I'll kiss you for every star I see tonight." Makoto tells Haruka, because it's the least he can do. Even if it's impossible to retrieve the stars themselves.

Because no matter how humble his promise, no matter how many there may be on any given night, kisses might make things a little better, and in the moment lips touch skin, they might be able to forget their troubles. Because even though he'd rather not run from things for too long, Makoto must admit he's at a loss— _a complete and utter loss_ —for a problem he can't even put into words.

So he lays his kisses down all over, one for each glimmer in the sky, and then a few extra for good measure. It's a proof of something tangible amongst the the ghosts of the day and the heavens he can't dare to reach.

 _'I'm leaving.'_ Haruka's voice echoes, again and again.

_'Please, please don't.'_

Makoto presses into the last kiss with all that he has and soon Haruka wades in, too, careful before throwing all caution to the wind. _Tangible._ Makoto will remain this way for Haruka, if he'll have him.

When Haruka falls away from the kiss first, mouthing his barely heard _"thank you,"_ Makoto thinks, selfishly, because he's gotten so, _so_ selfish, of _forever_. With a thumb grazed above Haruka's cheek, relieved at the lack of red splotches and heavy lids from crying, Makoto smiles down at Haruka. His bittersweet boy.

_'I'm leaving.'_

The boy that just feels like _forever_ , even if forever might not exist.

_'I'm leaving.'_

"I just...want things to be okay, you know?" Makoto blurts out, because he's tired of biting his tongue until the bitterness feels like blood. He just has to say something, _anything_.

"Because lately, no matter how _happy_ I've been to be with you, things have been odd, I think. I'm not sure you've felt it, too."

Makoto watches Haruka nod along, even though it's clear he has more to say. But he doesn't.

"Yeah," is all he can muster.

"And I really thought about it...what you told me before at the house. When you said that you were leaving." Makoto doesn't even remember making it to the pool without having Haruka lead him there, just because of those ambiguous words. _I'm leaving._ It had consumed Makoto, drowned him, and brought him back again, only to leave him at the bottom of this empty pool.

_'I just want things to be okay.'_

"And I think it really puts things into perspective. I think I know why things have been so _weird._ " 

 _'No, I still don't understand anything. I don't know if there's anything_ to _understand.'_

"Because things are about to change, aren't they?

_'Haru, do you know where we’re going?'_

"Because you're leaving, as much as I'm leaving." Makoto says, a lump forming in his throat. The truth of the word, _leaving,_ coats his mouth with honey and soothes him, and _it sounds just right,_ even though he doesn't want it to. 

This is it. Makoto knows it is time. This is the time to tell him about how stars can actually taste more bitter than anyone could imagine, that he hears the words _goodbye_ and _farewell_ like a slow and solemn hymn, constantly sung at the back of his head. That he can't think of anything like _forever._ That something, _somewhere_ , is pulling them down into nothingness. That he loves Haruka more than anything. 

 _'I just want things to be okay.'_  

"Because when spring comes, we'll be in different schools...and we won't get to be _here_ , like this." 

_'You know it's more than that.'_

"I think...that's what I've been thinking about."

Some might call this blissful ignorance. Makoto knows he's lying to himself.

"But I think, despite our distance, despite the fact that I'm leaving, and you're leaving..."

Makoto will do anything to force out his _hellos_ , despite the overwhelming urge to do the opposite. It feels like fighting against gravity itself, like he's dragging the stars down for the both of them. 

"I'd still like to be with you, for a very, very long time." 

And for that brief moment in time, ease spreads through his system and lets him breathe. He lowers his shoulders and shows Haruka that usual smile, as if things like words can tear down uncertainty. Because if kisses and held hands can make some things tangible, so can his little affirmations. It's what Makoto tells himself. It's what he _has_ to tell himself, if he wants to stay with Haruka.

Haruka explores Makoto with wandering eyes, lowered and soft, almost empty. And slowly, but surely, as the light returns to Haruka's eyes, he is the first to kiss Makoto this time, lips barely brushed against his. An inkling of a smile comes across Haruka's face next, unsure as he should be. Makoto's not sure if he's aware that it's on his face. 

"I think I'd like that, too." Haruka tells him.

And as Makoto swoops in for one more kiss, one more for another nonexistent star, he keeps his mouth closed. Because as he refuses to say his goodbyes, Makoto's body battles back and scrapes his insides raw. For all the feigned sweetness, for all the good things they've conjured up this evening, he doesn't need Haruka tasting blood, too. He doesn't need to know what the actual stars taste like.

 

* * *

 

 

When Makoto wakes up on the floor, his mind still stirs with the memories of Haruka, all of them slow and wordless and beckoning for better things. 

In one moment he's reaching for Haruka through the coolness of water, losing ground in a race he knew he'd never win, and in the next, he's reaching across the sheets, tracing the love bites on his naked back. Over and over again, he chases Haruka through the awkward space between dreaming and living, never reaching him in a thousand different circumstances. When he comes to the last of them, Haruka fading with the stars of a false memory, never to be seen again, he just shakes himself awake so he doesn't have to bear anymore.

_"Before you forget me forever."_

Opening his eyes, Makoto expects to find Haruka still lying next to him, or sitting nearby with a plate of mackerel, or just getting out of the bath with a damp towel around his neck. But when he adjusts his gaze to the light of the day, Makoto finds nothing but a blanket scrunched up at his legs and a familiar key placed in his palm. There is no trace of Haruka anywhere. 

"Haru?" Makoto chokes out, voice garbled by a mix of the morning and the residual effects of crying. Sitting up, he gulps hard and wipes away the stickiness at the pit of his eyes, taking a deep breath to cease any rising panic. Rising from the ground, knees a wobbly mess, Makoto tells himself that Haruka has to be somewhere in the house. He ignores the key squeezed in the palm of his hand.

"Haru," Makoto calls into the vacant kitchen, to an empty bathtub, to a bedroom untouched. The house creaks from emptiness. 

Digging into his pocket, Makoto takes his phone and dials for Haruka, waiting for any sort of response. Predictably enough, his phone is off. Makoto leaves a text message with quivering fingers:  
 

 **Tachibana Makoto [07:25AM JST]  
** **Haru, did you leave the house for something? I'm not sure what you want me to do with your key...should I just lock up and go?**

 

Staring blankly at the screen, Makoto realizes he has one unchecked voicemail. Breath held, he puts in his password, four digits, 0-6-3-0, and waits for the automated operator to read out his options. Then, the sound of scrambling emerges on the other end: 

_"Ah! Mako-chan! Call me back when you can. Your mom called my house last night asking if you were sleeping over at my place and...I kinda panicked and told her you were...sorry! Anyway, call me back, okay?"_

Odd. Calling Nagisa back, Makoto wonders how his mother didn't think to ring Haruka's house first. The both of them did fall asleep rather early, though, so maybe he had missed all her calls. With the dial tone still going off, Makoto checks all of his missed calls and finds three from his house phone. He thinks he’ll have to apologize to his mother later for the trouble.

 _"Hello?_ _Mako-chan?"_ Nagisa picks up, cheery as as usual.

"Hey! Nagisa, good morning...you asked me to call you back?" 

 _"Yep! So where are you?"_  

"I'm at Haru's. It's strange that my mom would call to ask you where I am. I would think she'd just _assume_."

_"Well, that's hard to do with a new friend."_

"What?"

_"I mean, how can she assume that if she doesn't know the other person? Ooh—Mako-chan, did you get a secret lover? Are you sneaking around? I helped you out big time, didn't I?"_

Over the other line, Nagisa hides the sound of chuckling, but Makoto doesn't find any of this funny.

"Nagisa, this is _Haru_ we're talking about."

_"Oh? But I don't know anyone by that name."_

"Don't play this game with me right now, Nagisa. Honestly...please." Makoto slumps down onto his knees, hunched over because he's sure he might throw up. " _Please_." He pleads again. There's an odd sliver of morning light coming through window of the sliding doors, painting itself on the part of the floor where Makoto and Haruka slept not hours before. He runs his hands over the wood paneling, feeling the sun on his skin, but the ground remains cold.

 _"Mako-chan..."_ It seems that Nagisa understands the severity of the situation from the drop in his voice. _"I honestly don't know who you're talking about."_  

“How can you not? It’s Haru.” Makoto questions him again, voice raised, oddly choking up at the name. _Haru_. Makoto coughs up a little bit, tasting blood on the roof of his mouth.

_“Are...you okay?”_

“We saw each other a couple of days ago...when Haru and I had cleaning duty? You and Rei brought cookies?"

_“Yeah...I guess I remember someone being there.”_

“And you strung up all those lights for us the night before that. Haru said you did it because he wanted to go stargazing.”

 _“Mako-chan, you were the one that wanted to see the stars. We thought it’d be a good way to say, ‘thank you captain!’ Don’t you remember?”_  

Makoto is almost too speechless to continue. On his back, the goosebumps form and fade and form again, layering over each other in waves. In talking to Nagisa, Haruka’s existence feels false.

“How can you say that?”

_“I'm...well—oh, listen, I have to get going, okay? Rei-chan’s here. I’ll see you at school? Maybe you should take a sick day, actually?”_

“Nagisa, wait—”

_“A-ah, bye, Mako-chan!”_

The dial tone goes dead after that, but that doesn’t stop Makoto from making a few more calls right after.

 

 _“I’m sorry, Makoto-senpai, but I’m not sure who you’re referring to…”_ says Rei, with Nagisa chirping about in the background. _“Perhaps Nagisa-kun is right. I prescribe extensive bedrest as well.”_

 

Next comes Rin. _“Huh? Haru? Sorry, but I’m not sure who that is...the name’s kinda familiar though. I might’ve met him at a swim meet or something.”_

_“Hey, is everything okay, Makoto? Do you have something you need to talk about?”_

_"Makoto?"_

_“Is this person giving you trouble?”_

 

Makoto drops his phone and tries to catch his breath. They all have to be joking. _Surely._ After all, it’s Haru. _Who could possibly forget Haru?_ Again, Makoto feels his throat burn at the repeated mouthing of his name, his jaw oddly sore from saying it. He leans over on the floor, sick to his stomach, and when he thinks he’s about to vomit for sure, he hacks into his hand. A vibrant red seeps through the space between his fingers.

 _Goodbye. Farewell._ The words are begging to be said at this point, dripping over onto his skin. Tangibly red.

Makoto rushes over to the kitchen sink and coughs up again, blood splattering all over the metal basin and an unwashed plate left behind. Makoto dry heaves after that, wiping away the tears welling up in his eyes.   

"Haru." Makoto nearly keels over the counter, but just barely keeping himself up. He runs the faucet again, clearing the metallic taste from his tongue and letting the blood dilute under the rushing water. He’s making himself sick over this. 

 _'Haru will come back, as usual. He hasn't gone anywhere.'_ Makoto tells himself, taking a deep breath. _'Everyone is playing a prank on you. Everything is fine.'_

_'You will be able to laugh about this later.'_

Wandering back into the other room, Makoto plasters a semblance of a smile onto his face, aching and forced. He thinks he should lock the house up to keep it safe for Haruka, because he will surely be back by the evening, _he has to be_ , and everything has to be in order.

But on his way out, with feet grazing the place where Haruka laid with him, he stares down and thinks of yesterday again. He remembers the rattle of the late-day rain, and how Haruka had pulled Makoto close and fallen asleep against the sleeve of his sweater, endlessly exhausted. The joke of a smile fades off his face, string of muscles cut like sewn string, thread by flimsy thread.

 _"Let's run away together.”_  

Again, Makoto just lets himself sink back onto the floor. Haruka will never understand just how completely disarming he can be sometimes, especially in the quietest moments where his voice rings clearest and his eyes loom up honestly. Even just the remnants of Haruka, pleading and half-asleep, eyes fluttering open and closed in a struggle to stay awake, hands slipping off the hem of his shirt, runs into Makoto at full force, dismantling him bit by bit. 

_“Before you forget me forever.”_

Because even though Haruka was just drifting into sleep, and even though he'll surely be back by nightfall, warm-bodied and fine, _just fine,_ him falling away first and muttering those last words feels like something else altogether. 

“Please come back soon, Haru.”

 Makoto wants him to put an end to this cruel and killing joke.

“Please.”

 

* * *

_Haru...hey, um, it's Makoto. You never answered my text message and well, it's almost been a day since you've gone. I'm sorry that I have to bother you over voicemail, but can you please let me know what's going on? I'm...worried. I know things have been odd and...ah. I don't even know what to say. Just please call me back when you have the chance, okay?_

_And, Haru?_

_Before I do go, I just wanna say...even if you don't call me back, I did hear what you said to me the night before you left._

_And...well._

_Please don't think I'd ever forget you. Please, don't ever, ever think that that'll happen._

* * *

 

 

“I’m staying at Haru’s tonight.” Makoto clarifies to his mother this time, with backpack already slung over his shoulder and jacket zipped-up for the cold, but she’s too occupied on the phone to pay much attention to her son.

“Yes... _yes_ , I completely understand. There should be no reason for you to keep an empty house when you’re always traveling. It _has_  been years since I last saw you two.” she chirps over to the other line while stirring a pot of soup for the dinner Makoto won’t be having tonight. With his mind still cloudy from a second day’s worth of bed rest and intermittent house-sitting at the Nanase residence, he doesn’t bother to catch too much of his mother’s conversation, but the words _empty house_ immediately receive his attention. 

“Ah, you sold it already? I didn’t see a listing for it!” 

Makoto shrugs, going into the refrigerator to look for any leftover energy drinks. His mother enjoys the occasional conversation with hometown friends and old classmates, so he figures this is just another one of those. When he doesn’t find anything to drink, he settles for a glass of milk and gulps some down to pass the time. 

“When will you be back to move your— _oh,_ you’ll be getting professional movers? Oh, so you won’t be coming back to town at all?” 

Makoto wraps a scarf around his neck and leans against the refrigerator, hands absentmindedly fiddling with half-chipped magnets.

“That’s a shame to hear. The Nanases will be missed in the neighborhood!”

Makoto’s hand drags too hard against one of the magnets, sending it flying off the door panel.

“Mom?” Makoto edges out, feeling like a child again. She doesn’t hear him.

“Yes, please do stop by for dinner when you have the chance! You’re always welcome back.” She laughs at something Makoto can’t hear. 

“ _Mom._ ”

“Yes, yes. Holidays for sure. Well, good night!”

Makoto’s mother puts the phone back on the receiver and smiles pleasantly at her son, going over to pinch one of his cheeks.

“You look well-rested. Sleep and soup really does a person good, huh?”

Makoto nods slowly, but he feels sick to his stomach. In his two days away from school, his recuperation time has been restless at best, devoted to obsessively checking his phone and going for repeated walks up to Haruka's house. He hates lying to his mother every time he says, "I'm just going out for some fresh air."

“Mom...who were talking to on the phone?”

She frowns slightly, probably curious at her son’s sudden interest. “Oh, some of our neighbors. The Nanases? I know you’re not as well acquainted with them, since they do travel a lot, but they’ve just sold their house—”

“But what about Haru?” Makoto can’t help but interrupt. “Where is he supposed to…” he stops right in his tracks when it’s clear that she has no idea who _Haru_ is.

“Their only son.” Makoto breathes out next. “Nanase Haruka.” Saying his name like this in full, clinically like a missing person’s poster in cold, bold text, makes Makoto want to retch again, his stomach already feeling empty and hollow.

“ _Haru_.” he adds again, because that’s the only way he knows him. It’s the way he’s said his name for years. His mother has heard him at every turn. She should know the name almost as well as he does. 

His mother’s face drops, forming into a bemused frown, one that says, _‘you definitely need more sleep.’_

“They don’t have a son.” she tells Makoto. “They never had any children.”

“No, but _mom—_ ” 

“Are you sure you don’t need to rest more, Makoto?” she inches closer to her son, resting her hand on his forehead. “Ah, you definitely seem feverish...how about you stay in tonight?”

Makoto shakes his head. “I was going to stay at…”

_‘Haru’s.’_

_‘Just say it, like you usually do. Haru’s. Because you’re always at Haru’s.’_

“A friend’s.” Makoto blurts out. “I said I’d be there tonight.” 

His mother lets out a small sigh. “Okay, if you really want to.” She brushes the side of her finger along Makoto’s cheek and offers a sad little smile. “But please do look after yourself. You’re not looking so great these days.”

Makoto nods, tucking his face into his oversized scarf. “Yeah.”

“Are you bundled up enough?”

“Yes. Gloves are in my pocket.” Makoto answers her, even though he’s only going up the stony steps and right into another house.

"And you won't get hungry?"

"No, and I'll be sure to eat a proper meal." Makoto lies, because he hasn't had much of an appetite to begin with.

“And _Haruka_?" his mother asks suddenly, catching Makoto by surprise. 

"Huh?"

"That’s the name, right?”

“Yeah.” Makoto says with breath half held, hoping, maybe, that she's remembered him—

“ _Nanase Haruka_.” she muses. “That would’ve been a beautiful name, I think, for a son.” 

Makoto stares right past his mother as she, too, takes part in erasing Haruka's existence.

“I...I have to go now.” Makoto takes his mother’s hand for a moment and shuffles past her, absentmindedly patting the heads of Ren and Ran before shuffling on his shoes and running out the door and into the night.

 

The cold air scrapes against his battle-ridden lungs as Makoto runs up the stairs. Images of falling snow and two sparklers chase after him up each step, begging to be remembered again. Like a whispering taunt, he can almost feel Haruka's lips brush against his, snow landing on both their faces like curiously placed freckles, with the heat of the half-dead sparklers almost burning their exposed fingers. Their other hands are linked together, and Makoto thinks they'be been held so often it's like Haruka still has him in his clutches.

But Makoto cannot bear to stay so long. He doesn't dwell on the memory because he insists that more will come on the stairs, under stars, and anywhere else they set their mind to. He tells himself the future is bright, that they are first phase stars.

Coming up to Haruka's house, which looms like the neighborhood's shadow, Makoto repeats his name out loud and stares at each darkened window.

"Haru," He says for the first time, closing his eyes. _Nanase Haruka_ really is a beautiful name, but it stings with distance, and that is something Makoto has had enough of. _Haru_ will suffice. It is what he prefers.

 _"Haru,_ " He chokes out again, ignoring the taste of metal in his mouth and urge to retch again.

Makoto cries out _"Haru"_ once more, voice a little loud for the night from the way it brings a slight echo, like saying his name three times will grant some nonsensical, unmade wish. Like Haruka will be able to hear him and come running home. 

"Please come home." 

And when Makoto opens his eyes and sees a single light turned on in the Nanase residence, he thinks that maybe— _just maybe—_ making wishes isn't such a hopeless endeavor.

Breathlessly, he goes to the door and finds it already unlocked. A sure sign for Haruka. _Haruka must be home._

So Makoto rushes in, forgetting to take his shoes off and dropping his backpack in the hallway. There is no light anywhere on the first floor of the house, and the sound of classical music streams faintly to complement the dancing of the creaky pipes. Makoto wanders to all the usual places—the kitchen, the bathtub, the sitting room, the backyard beyond the sliding doors—and finds no one. There is only music and the silence that lies beyond it.

"Haru?" Makoto calls, cautiously. He thinks, only briefly, that this is what horror movies are made of. Smacking the thought away, though, Makoto tells himself he doesn't need a reason to run out of the house. Not when Haruka might be in it.

Upstairs, lamplight streams from under Haruka's bedroom door. 

Makoto tip-toes up to the door, keeping his hand on the knob with shaking fingers. He shuts his eyes closed for a moment. Nervous. Of all things, he's nervous. Makoto's not even sure what he'll say to Haruka, because it's not like they've really left on a _good_ place, but he thinks he might just hug him and kiss him in reunion. He might just faint from happiness altogether.

And then after that, the hard questions will come.

"Okay." Makoto nods, giving himself this small reassurance. "Okay, Haru."

He tells himself to smile for Haruka, because he surely must've had a long trip, but as hopefulness spreads across Makoto's face, it is instantly dashed when he opens the door to find no one by the name of Nanase Haruka.

 

* * *

 

_"And so I said to candidate two-three-five-six-one, stop eating so much mackerel."_

"Oh, he _never_ listens." 

 _"Please."_  

"What?"

_"You'd be the type to enable him, stupid cat."_

Instead of Haruka, Makoto stumbles upon a talking cat on his laptop and a plate of stolen mackerel. Classical music, a dreadfully solemn tune, continues to play from the speakers.

The cat flicks his head to the side to face Makoto, hissing the moment they make eye contact. Using both of his paws, he reaches up to close the screen of his laptop, but he doesn't have a chance to when Makoto comes to grab it from him first. It appears, because none of this is strange enough to begin with, that the cat has been webcamming with a big, black dog on the other end. 

 _"Eh? Who are you?"_ The dog says to Makoto, actually barking at him.

"Tachibana Makoto! I implore you to put down my computer!" The cat screeches, clawing at one of his pants legs.

"Mackerel." Makoto breathes out first, obviously deciding to look past the subject of talking cats and dogs and their means of long distance communication. "You talked about mackerel."

 _"Oh my god, wait!"_ The dog gasps.

"Tachibana!" The cat yells, jabbing Makoto's calf with the fury of his punching paws.

 _"It's the boy in the bed! Tachibana Makoto! Hey, hey, Nanase-kun! Look who I've got on the webcam!"_  

"No, _stupid dog_ , don't you dare!" The cat hops up onto the bed again, still reaching for Makoto and the laptop in vain with hind legs extended as far as they can go.

"Nanase?" Makoto repeats before letting the gravity of the name sink in. "Haru? _Haru,_ are you there?"

"Dog, hang up, _now._ " The cat commands. "If you don't, I'll be sure to get you fired. You already have five strikes out of three."

_"Oh, boo! Fine, boss. I just figured it'd be exciting for your blog and all—"_

"Hang. Up."

Makoto shakes his head. "No, don't, please, I need to see—"

 _"Goodbye!"_ The dog gives a snarling smile and presses down on the keyboard with one of his paws, effectively ending the call.

"Haru!" Now Makoto is the one to scream out, but the screen just returns to blankness and leaves him with nothing.

But for the briefest moment, maybe because he's already going crazy, Makoto thinks he catches Haruka on the other end before the image cuts out completely.

 

* * *

 

"I am now the owner of this house."

Makoto is sitting downstairs with the cat in the sitting room, where the latter has somehow convinced him into a session of evening tea time. As the cat laps his chamomile off a saucer, Makoto repeatedly pinches himself under the table, keeping an eye on something he _surely_ must've dreamed up. He'd be terrified if the cat wasn't so cute.

"What...does that mean?" Makoto asks. 

"I contacted the owners and convinced them to sell it to me. The paperwork was finalized this morning." 

"But you're a _cat_." Makoto argues, eyebrows raised. 

"So? If monkeys can go to space, I can own a house. Or three. And a villa in Greece."

" _Okay_. Never mind about that. That's not the point." 

"Oh, I know."

"I mean...what will happen to Haru? Where is he going to stay?"

The cat shrugs. "It's a big enough house for the both of us. He can keep his room, as long as he cooks that _delicious_ grilled fish for me."

"But...his parents."

"They have informed me about not having any children." The cat says. "Sad how things like this go, you know?"

"What things?"

"Oh, I've said too much already."

Makoto understands that this business about talking cats and stolen stars may require a bit of discretion. And because he's still not sure that this isn't some kind of lucid dream, he will be sure to tread delicately in the fear of waking up before getting answers.

"Can you at least tell me when Haru's coming back?"

"I mean...that’s _if_ he chooses to come back."

Makoto's eyes lower towards his untouched tea, hands now fiddling with themselves under the tabletop. He looks again to the empty space on the floor and swallows down the clot of dried blood in his throat.

"Why did he leave?" Makoto asks next.

"You have not once asked me  _where._ _Where did he leave to?_ " The cat tilts his head to the side, letting his whiskers skim the surface of his bowl. "I'd ask that. Seems like the most basic information you'd strive for."

Makoto shakes his head. "As long as you can tell me he's safe, I don't need to know _where_ he is yet. If there's something he needs to do alone, then I will respect that."

"You see, that is _precisely_ the problem." The cat sighs. " _Alone_ is the last thing he should be, concerning his dilemma. He'll have plenty of that later."

"What do you mean by that?" 

"Hm," hums the cat. "Why don't you ask me that first question again?"

Taking a deep breath, Makoto looks ahead in half-reverence, half-fear. He knows he has to be careful about things like this. He might be staring at a fuzzy-faced cat, grey-furred and innocent, but Makoto understands full well that he might have more answers than anyone. So he nods and complies with whatever the cat asks for. 

"Why did he leave?"

Stirring the tea with his paw, the cat watches the tea water swirl around, head turning as he watches the soaked tea leaves spin on and on.

"Nanase Haruka is afraid to tell you something," The cat tells him simply, "and that fear of _something_ has driven him into isolation."

This is the moment Makoto feels his insides burn until all that's left is empty air. So that's it. Haruka has actually run away because of him. 

"What...couldn't he tell me?" Makoto asks, feeling lower than low can ever get.

With a shake of his head, the cat's collar bell jingles too, like a sounding alarm. "That is not something I should reveal to you. I _can_ , but it's not my place to intervene." 

Makoto places his hands on the table and folds them over his cup in an attempt to stop shaking.

"Can you give me a hint, at least?"

"Maybe if you ask the right questions."

Leaning forward over the table, Makoto's sure he doesn't want to know whatever answer may come next. It makes him sick, thinking about it. But if it means reaching Haruka across this unknown space, if it means finding him again, he will bear any outcome. Makoto might not have any of the armor for this, he might be nothing but coughed-up blood and shaking knees and forced-back sobs, but if he knows one thing, it's this: he will always, _always_ be there for Haruka. He will call out when no one else thinks to. 

"The night before he left Iwatobi, Haruka told me that..." Makoto feels a choke get caught up in his throat again, but he manages to clear his throat before it turns into full-out crying. 

"He wanted to run away with me before I forgot him.” Makoto omits the word _forever_ because it still feels too fairytale, but with the absence of stars and talking cats drinking tea, he might have to accept that the world is full of strange and sordid things. _Forever_ , not in the context of held hands and promises, might be a permanence Makoto can't live with. The word might exist in the worst way.

The cat stares ahead with widened, yellowed eyes.

“Are people forgetting Haru?” Makoto asks, unable to stop himself from crying this time.

Maybe he already has been crying. The bitter taste in the back of this throat is well-known by now in the midst of it, and he has always scrambled the words and put them in their place, but he knows this is no longer the case. Goodbye. Farewell. Makoto has never uttered the words himself, _he wouldn't dare to,_ but he knows others are starting. 

The cat sighs. “Yes.”

Makoto wipes his eyes on his sweater sleeve, determined to keep his composure, but he knows this is useless by now. “Is that what he’s trying to tell me? Because I won’t...I won’t forget him, I _swear_ , I’ll never—”

“There’s more to it than people _forgetting,_ Tachibana. But that’s not something I should be telling you.”

“What _more_ can there possibly be?” Makoto asks. “What is happening to him? What is happening...to...”

“To…”

And just like that, Makoto knows the bitterness has erupted into more than a single type of taste.

It is a plethora of all things terrible—It is _goodbye,_ it is _farewell,_ and it is the feel of forgetting a loved one’s name.

“Haru.” Makoto finally finishes, even though the damage has been done. He clutches at his mouth and shakes his head over and over at his transgression, at the blank space where Haruka's name has rested for so long.

"Haru," he makes himself say again. "H-Haru..."

He knows it’s happening to him now, too. This is not a game. It never has been. And as hunches away from the table, he coughs blood up again on the floor, exhausted and devastated and breathless and just plain _terrified._ His body is telling him to stop fighting this.

_‘Just forget him, like all the others. Say your goodbyes. Make your farewells sweet.’_

“You’re holding onto him, aren’t you?” the cat asks, sauntering over to Makoto by climbing over the table and leaping right back down onto the ground next to him. “Even though it hurts you.”

Makoto just wipes his mouth clean and closes his eyes shut. He can’t even conjure up that false memory, of Haruka under the cosmos with a single sparkler, because none of it lasts. Sparklers die out, as do stars, _every single one of them_ , and he knows that nothing will ever be the same. 

Instead, all he remembers is his _first time_ promise, made in the heat of the moment but never forgotten.

 _“You know I’ll always be here, right?_ ”

“Will you continue to hold on?” the cat asks, in the haze of reality. “To Nanase Haruka?”

 Makoto should say no. He should let himself forget like all the others. He should know that not all promises are meant to be kept.

“I will,” Makoto tells him anyway like a reflex, voice momentarily free of any sobs. 

“I will hold on.”

The cat dabs his paw into the blood before backing away from it altogether. His sigh is long and deep, like a ridicule itself against this world.

“How can you both be so stubborn about this?”

Despite the way his body aches, it only takes half a second for Makoto to find the answer. It has always been the answer, through and through. Nothing about forgetting or _running away_  will ever change it, because it's so ingrained in Makoto it feels like muscle memory. It's a story he's read over and over, and one he'll pour himself over again without a moment's hesitation. 

“It's because I love Haru.” He still lets his words resound, letting the empty space in the vacant house receive his sentiments. This is the one time he hopes it echoes past the walls.

Makoto wishes he could say it in a way that’ll make everyone remember _Nanase Haruka_. He wishes he could tell the story so they'll never forget him again.

“I love him.” he repeats himself.

In the darkness, under the blankets, under string lights, and amongst the nonexistent stars, he loves him. Everywhere and anywhere, to outer space and back. Settings do not matter, because—

“I will always, _always_ love him.”

In the following silence, he just hopes that the cat understands. 

"Tachibana Makoto." the cat muses, staring straight up at him, with a blood-stained paw pressed against the flesh of Makoto's palm. "The boy in the bed."

And with a sigh, it seems that the cat  _does_ understand. Makoto is surprised that even cosmic cats take a liking to him.

“If you’re going to be so honest about things, I might as well be, too.”

Makoto holds his breath and waits for the worst. He sits back against the table as the cat scrambles out of the room, who returns two minutes later with an envelope in his mouth. Ripping it open without the tact he knows he should maintain, Makoto finds a plane ticket, a bundle of cash, and a folded-up list in Haruka's handwriting. He catches part of the title: an inconspicuous, foreboding  _goodbye._

“He's in Tokyo."

The cat hands one more thing to Makoto from under the weight of his paw—it is a polaroid of the two of them, smiling under the guise of string lights. Haruka's image, though visible, is faded enough for anyone to miss him.

"So go there, and bring him back home..." the cat tells him.

But Makoto thinks, despite everything, that he'll never forget to stop looking for Haruka. If Tokyo is where he has to go, then so be it. 

"And let your farewell be a good one." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thanks for reading another installment! This is the first time I've ever done Makoto's POV, and there will probably be another chapter like this in the future...just thought it'd be important to show his perspective on things. Again, the stars play a prominent role and I keep repeating the imagery for it, but there's good reason for that that will be revealed later on...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me thus far q_q come talk with me at @asplendidmoon on twitter (my main form of communication) for companions.tumblr.com (where i'm a tad slower to respond...)


	9. a kiss for every star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  There's just no grace in gravity.

 

 ** resolution ten: ** **take in your bedtime stories.  
** **(forty-five days to go)**

 

When Haruka leans over the sink and watches the pastel dust wash off his fingers, hues of green fading to the white of skin, he tries to catch the impossible water to no avail. It runs through his palm like he's a ghost, cloudy with a residual green, and catches the reprieve of the drain under him.

“I’m disappearing, Makoto.” Haruka tells himself again, absently, reluctantly, even though he knows he should be practicing the words more often than he has.

Nonetheless, the water continues to run regardless of things unsaid.

Haruka’s hands are already clean, dry without a hint of wetness, but to him, it is just another sign of his impending nothingness. But here, in an apartment just too big for one boy and a dog, in a city too busy and too crowded for anyone to actually breathe or acknowledge each other, Haruka surmises that this place might be the best place to be _nothing_. It is probably the best place to disappear, like chalk traces under the full force of running water.

"Nanase—"

Still on edge, Haruka nearly knocks the toothpaste off the countertop when the dog comes yawning into the bathroom. It always unsettles Haruka, the way the dog just wanders around without the light on in the hallway, because he is as black as the night itself and hard to see, with steps surprisingly quiet for a slobbering, paddling mess of a cosmic messenger.

"Hi," Haruka says to the dog, wiping his hands completely clean with the edge of a towel and leaving the room, turning the light off behind him. The messenger follows right behind Haruka, back into his makeshift bedroom.

Quietly hovering over his desk, Haruka places the chalk pastels back into their slots in the box, staring emptily at the green one before putting that one back last. He gathers his drawings together before leaving them tucked into a sketchbook.

"Couldn't sleep again?" The dog asks. "I saw you all huddled up when I left for karaoke, so I figured you were successful this time." 

Haruka shakes his head and goes over to the bed, beckoning for the dog to hop off, if only momentarily. As he remakes the covers he had thrown off no more than two hours ago, thinking there'd be no use for sleep again anyway, he thinks of the newest nightmare, just the repeated motions of _hands letting go_ , over and over again in a million different scenarios. Makoto's voice loops without taking a breath between words.

 _whoareyouwhoareyouwhoareyou_  

Haruka takes a deep breath and presses a closed fist into his pillow before settling it back into place, breathing out his remaining jitters. He finds it useless to get them all out at once.

"Bad dream?"

Haruka just nods, but he doesn't say anything about it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he links his own hands together and stares down at the floor. Pressing his palms together hard, so tight to the point where the tips of his fingers burst from redness, he realizes this isn't the same. It’s not the same as having them held.

"You know what they say about people who have a lot of nightmares?" The dog asks, plopping himself on the bed, too.

"They’re disappearing." Haruka mumbles drowsily. He loosens his grip on his fingers when they start to ache.

The dog clicks his tongue. "Now, now, child, no need to get all doom and gloom on me. That's what the cat does. _Meow._ "

Haruka just shrugs. "Okay," he answers listlessly.

"I'm just saying, you have all of these nightmares because you're sitting around, trapped in your own negativity all the time. You got forty-five days left? Live them up, rent a boat, and get a drink with me. Rob a bank!"

"I'm not going to rob a bank."

"Oh, you know what I mean." The dog sighs. "But no more of that for today. Why don't we settle back into bed? You’ll get to sleep in no time with one of my bedtime stories."

Sleep. It is an odd feeling, _not wanting to_ , especially in a time when Haruka _knows_ he should be yearning for slumber, especially when hitting the bed seems like such a primal comfort, but he is, in all honesty, afraid to fall asleep. The black space under his covers looks like any other night for him, and it just reminds him that it’s much too easy to make any darkness into a sky without stars.

And then, because his mind is a tired, darting mess, he thinks of string lights and sparklers and a promise made— _“I’d still like to be with you, for a very, very long time”—_ and the kisses for every star he can’t see. He thinks about nightmares. He thinks about the words unsaid.

He thinks about what might happen after he tells him.

_'Stop.'_

Dragging his cheek harder against the plush of the pillow, Haruka closes his eyes and tries to breathe when he feels his stomach churn and drop. _Relax. Calm down._

_'You're already disappearing, anyway.'_

_'Let yourself fall.'_  

“Can you tell me about it?” Haruka asks, looming up to face the dog, desperately ready to change the subject.

“So you _do_ want to hear my stories?”

“No.” Haruka answers. 

“No?” 

“I want to hear about the other place.” Haruka corrects him.

The dog hums a three-note song in turn. “What makes you think there’s something on the other side of this?” he asks. 

Again, Haruka gives another shrug. “I don’t know. It just feels that way.”

“Well, you’re right on that. At least, that's the generally accepted theory."

“Ah.”

“And you want to know if I’ve been there.”

Haruka nods, now a little more at peace with the dog. It surprises him, the ease he can share with this cosmic messenger. He thinks he would never be this way with the cat, who has always been just a little too prim and proper for his liking. _Condescending_ would be another word Haruka would like to use, too, if he didn't owe him for bringing here in the first place.

“Well, I haven’t. None of the messengers have.” The dog explains, as he fluffs his pillow up under him. “All we know are the basics, the stories the gods let us hear...creation myths, _great changes_ …”

Haruka’s eyelids feel heavier than ever, threatening him with sleep, but he pinches himself under the wrist to stay alert. No falling asleep just yet. “Go on.”

“Well, not to get you down, but you don’t see stars, right? It’s quite a common affliction among those about to disappear.”

Haruka just nods.

“Well, that’s because you’re already connected to the _other place_. You’re starting to see what they see...endless nights, all without the light of stars. It really bums _me_ out, when I think about it."

“ _Starting_ to see?” Haruka asks, picking up a piece of the conversation.

“Well, yes, because your days are so numbered. You’re becoming a part of that other world, more and more everyday. It kinda feels like transferring your existence, if you wanna think about it in those terms.” 

“But I haven’t…” he trails off, not sure if the dog will have answers.

“Haven’t what?”

“I haven’t seen a star in eight years.” Haruka says again. 

“You must be mistaken.” 

“I’m not.” Haruka asserts. “I know what I see.”

“You must be the slowest _fader_ in existence, then, because that’s quite an oddity you've got yourself.” The dog just sighs and shakes his head, before coming to another conclusion. “So that means...you’ve been falling in—” 

“Don’t say it.” Haruka interrupts him.

“You’ve been falling in _you know what_ for years, then. Amazing.” The dog says. “How _did_ you manage to keep that in control for so long?”

“I...didn’t know it was a problem until it was too late.” 

“You sure you’re not disappearing over a simple case of raging teenage hormones? ‘Cause _man_ , I remember that phase.”

“Shut up.” A glare comes the dog’s way. The dog takes it in stride and offers a funny little smile back at Haruka.

“I'm _kidding._ No god would kick you to the curb for something like that.” The dog sighs and stares up at the ceiling, before staring back at his momentary owner.

Silence hits the room and Haruka doesn't feel like filling it. 

“You’ve got yourself the real thing, huh?” the dog asks.

Haruka softens his glare until it breaks down altogether.

“ _Hey_ , it’s true, though.” The dog laughs, still keeping things strangely light. “At least, that’s how I see it.”

Haruka can’t even try to deny it at this point, but he chooses to effectively end the conversation by flipping over onto his other side.

 _"Ma-ko-to."_ Haruka breathes out the syllables carefully so he'll never forget them in the other world. His voice is low enough so the dog doesn't hear him.

 _The real thing._ He’s not even sure when that word, _you know what, the real thing, love,_ even became affixed to the boy back home, _the boy in his bed_ , but sometimes it feels like he’s known since forever.

Haruka thinks if he had to put a name to it now, something momentary and a tad nonsensical from a lack of sleep, he'd say that loving him is like being an astronaut. Goosebumps connect like constellations every time Makoto looks at him a certain way, and all the air runs out the moment he goes to kiss him. And sometimes, even though Haruka feels like gravity itself, weighing everything down, the sensation of being with Makoto makes him want to float, like the rest of the universe is still spread in front of him.

Closing his eyes again to welcome the darkness behind his eyelids, Haruka pushes the thought out of his mind. There's no such thing as _floating_ anymore. The heavy lumps in his throat and the sinking in his chest tell him his. He is gravity personified.

"So..." The dog starts, out of the silence. "Are you ever going to go back? To Iwatobi?"

Haruka feels a small frown form over the word _Iwatobi_ , because they both know it's more than a matter of hometowns at this point.

"I don't know." Haruka answers him, voice small.

"Do you want to see him?" 

Without hesitation, Haruka wants to say, _'Of course. Of_ course _I want to see him.'_ But he doesn't turn back to tell the dog this, despite the conviction pounding against his skull and breaking down his rib bones. Because as much as he wants to float on air, to find Makoto and his relief, _because he would be so, so relieved to find Haruka again,_ he still hasn't found a way to tell him. 

Because the moment they separate from any sort of reunion, Haruka will have to say it—he'll have to say, _"I'm disappearing, Makoto,"_ and discover that there's just no grace in gravity.

And so, because he can't get himself to say it, because just practicing the words feels like free fall, Haruka hugs himself closer, tensing his shoulders and taking up more of the covers to hide.

"I do." He says anyway, quietly, honestly. Despite it all, he still misses Makoto more than anything. He just wishes that seeing him didn't come with other implications. 

“Aw, don’t give me that, now.” The dog paws at Haruka’s back. “You still haven’t heard my bedtime story, you know. That'll cheer you up.”

"Tell it, if you want." Haruka lets the wave of blankets cover his head completely. The air is stuffy and hot under them, but he just doesn’t have the energy to reemerge.

"What’s the point, if you're not going to listen?" 

Haruka really doesn’t care at this point, but there’s no point in being mean to the dog. Let him tell his little tales.

"Don't you want me to fall asleep?" he asks softly, thinking this will placate him. When Haruka hears the dog sigh before clearing his throat for a story, he takes it as a cue to try to relax. No more thoughts about falling. 

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

" _Okay_ , so...a long, long time ago, in the other world,” the dog begins, in a voice mocking the way mothers tell fairy tales, “there used to be stars. A whole universe's worth in a single, blessed sky..."

The dog's voice falls into a lull, reverent over the cosmos.

Haruka can't even imagine what a sky like that might look like. He tries to conjure up at that false memory, of Makoto under the stars, smiling before a universe’s worth of brilliance, but only blankness remains on his mind. He takes a deep breath and tries again, all to no avail, barely stopping himself from panicking because he can’t see Makoto at all.

“And the people guarded those stars, living and thriving under the endless night.”

Haruka lets the word _endless_ play over and over, eyes fluttering open and closed for the tempting heaviness of sleep. What an impossible word.

“ _M-hm_ …” Haruka breathes out, probably not even heard at all.

“Two children, born into that world, a gardener’s child and a lamp maker’s son, linked at the seams…”

The dog’s voice, distant and echoing, is the last thing Haruka hears before drifting off altogether. Amongst the garbled talk of stealing stars and crying children, the rest of the story a blur, Haruka only recounts the real. It has been another day in Tokyo, another night of terrible, unwanted sleep, and the first time he can’t imagine Makoto in the false memory. 

“Ruined those stars for everyone, taking them all because they were selfish…”

After that, the dog's voice fades out completely and all goes dark. Asleep is the last thing Haruka wants to be, but his body accepts it as an inevitability. Everyone sinks into it, eventually.

There's just no fighting certain things.

 _"I'm disappearing, Makoto."_  

But to his relief, in the first instance Haruka falls asleep, he does get to see Makoto. The nightmare, another new one, starts off with him standing at the opposite side of a double-lined road, holding two lit sparklers. His smile is as warm as the light he’s holding.

 _“_ _I was hoping we could see each other one last time.”_ He tells Haruka.

And even though he knows just what he’s getting himself into, another bad dream to send him screaming from his sheets, Haruka gives in, crosses the road, and takes the sparkler anyway.

 

* * *

 

_Haru… hey._

_It’s me again. Makoto._

_You weren’t answering your phone as usual, so I thought I’d leave you another message. Ah, it’s kind of hard to hear me, right? Airports are always no noisy...so I’m sorry if this is hard on your ears...anyway, um..._  

_Since I’ve said airport, you can probably guess where I’m headed to now, right? I’ll just never be good at playing it cool around you. I think that was an uncool thing to say, too, actually…_

_Ah, why am I so nervous recording this? Is it because I’m getting on a plane soon? No...well, I guess we both know that’s not the case._

_Anyway._

_I’ll be arriving in Tokyo, soon._  

_I just hope I get to see you._

 

* * *

 

 

 ** resolution eleven: ** **make your keepsakes. prepare. get out of the apartment. distract yourself.  
** **(forty-four days to go)**

 

“You sure do have a lot of time on your hands.”

The dog takes a seat at the kitchen table and watches Haruka place various keepsakes next to four gift bags, all delicately lined next to pastel sketches, paper stars, and colored tissue paper.

Haruka, clearly distracted, barely nods _'good morning'_ to the cosmic messenger before unrolling another bit of ribbon, tying it around a desserts cookbook for Nagisa in a neat little bow. He does the same for a glass prism for Rei, along with a medal-shaped pendant for Rin. He pairs them with the pictures he’s drawn, all of them smiling in the way he knows best, and for a second, Haruka feels like joining them too. But he just suppresses the fond little beam on his face and looks to the edge of the table, where the dog has noticed the empty space where Makoto’s gift should be.

“So this is what you do? Spend the cat’s money on gifts you might never give?” The dog asks, more amused than anything.

“I’ve heard he has a lot of it, anyway.” Haruka shrugs.

“That is true.” The dog laughs, hopping over from one chair to the other, peering over the pictures of each of his friends. He focuses especially on the one of Makoto.

“This really looks like him, from what I remember on the computer. I mean, the other ones are quite good too, but this one’s _different._ ” 

“I’ve known him the longest.” Haruka says as an excuse, because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s memorized every bit of Makoto by now. He doesn’t want to admit that he knows every glint in Makoto’s eye and every secret, after-dark smile. After a while, Haruka decides that it feels wrong, exposing this bit of him to a near stranger in the first place, so he quickly flips the picture over to the blank side without another word about it.

Next, Haruka goes over into one of his shopping bags, crouching down and pulling out a red plaid shirt, still freshly pressed and folded from the store.

“I didn’t take you for a _red_ guy.” the dog remarks. “But if it’s your attempt at changing things up, I commend—”

“It’s...not for me.” Haruka holds it by the collar and lets the sleeve fall to the sides, revealing a shirt that’s about two sizes too big for him. On their many shopping trips in Iwatobi, Makoto had always eyed something like this without ever buying it, always leafing through the hangers without picking the shirt up, so Haruka figures it’s the least he can get for him.

“ _Ah,_ I know who this is for.” The dog teases, waving a paw upward, drawing hearts in the air.

Haruka’s face goes red as he holds the shirt up to his face.

"It's...nothing, really." Haruka scrunches the fabric up in his hands.

“You should stitch a love note in the fabric, you know...hide it away for him to find later.” The dog laughs. "Don't think you care for gooey things like that, though."

“Do you have a sewing kit here?” Haruka asks, perking up a little bit. 

The dog scoffs. “ _Please_. Does it look like I wear clothes?"

“Then don't suggest things like that...” Haruka mumbles, but he still makes a mental note of going out to buy one later. He’s already thinking of words he can sew into the flannel, imagining the white thread that'd stick out just right amongst the red pattern. The dog just sighs and pokes his nose at a few paper stars, patting them curiously. 

"Nanase." The dog calls out.

"Mm?"

"He's probably gonna try looking for you, you know."

Haruka isn't even that surprised at the subject change, because he knows this has been at the core of everything here. It is a subject the dog has been hinting at since Haruka arrived here, prodding along in his own patient way.

"...I know." Haruka says, immediately forgetting about sewing love letters. 

"And the cat tells me they've been in contact."

"I figured." Haruka remembers seeing the flash of Makoto right before the dog hung up on the cat on the other end, during their webcam conversation. 

"You _figured_?"

Haruka nods.

The dog lets out a little scoff in return. "Then what was the _point_ of running away, if you knew he was just going to find you?"

"Because."

"Because what?" 

"That's not certain." _Finding him._ Makoto could look all he wanted, but there could never be a guarantee of _finding_ him. 

" _Well_." exhales the messenger, voice whittling like he’s been keeping secrets.

Haruka stares up at the dog, eyes wide. 

"Is he coming to Tokyo?"

"You _see_ , Nanase..."

"Out with it."

"He just boarded his plane ten minutes ago."

Haruka lands a hard frown before softening his gaze. He has certainly heard the phrase, _don't kill the messenger_ , and this one has certainly been the most hospitable, so he figures there no use in directing any sort of anger towards him. He’s not even sure he’s angry to begin with—certainly not with Makoto, and maybe only a little with the cat for spilling the beans. All he knows is that the words pound at his head— _’I’m disappearing’—_ like a nagging reminder to practice his goodbyes, and that the beat of it grows faster with every mention of _Makoto coming to Tokyo._

Like the _thud, thud, thud_ of something falling. 

"And he'll be coming here?" Haruka asks, trying to hide his quickened breath.

"The cat probably gave him my address, so I'd say yes."

“Okay.”

With that and one more panicked breath, Haruka lays the shirt down on the table and scrambles to find his wallet and keys on the kitchen counter. Going over to the front door, he quickly slips his shoes on and finds his jacket, sick of sitting in the apartment this morning anyway. At least, this is what he tells himself. 

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re running _again_.” The dog clicks his tongue repeatedly.

“I’m not.”

“Then where are you headed?”

“Craft store.” Haruka answers, opening the door before forgetting the red flannel shirt. He goes to pick it up and tucks it under his arm for safekeeping, slinging on his messenger bag haphazardly. _Craft store_ , he says, when Haruka and the dog know full well it'll be more than just that.

It will be the type of full-blown wandering that doesn't get him caught.

“What should I tell him then, if he comes by?”

Haruka takes a moment to think about this.

“That...I’ll be around.” 

“ _Around._ That’s what you always are, aren’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The dog hops off his chair and goes over to his bowl on the ground, looking up at Haruka before attending to his breakfast.

“That you could’ve run off a lot further than the likes of _Tokyo._ " 

This time, Haruka does glare at the dog, but only because it’s easier than admitting he might be right.

 _'Let yourself fall,'_ the voice in his head says, like it's a new kind of dance.

Shutting the door behind him without saying anything else, Haruka takes a deep breath in the hallway and tries to occupy himself with other thoughts. This city _has_ to give him these distractions. This is what Tokyo is for, after all. _What train should he take today? Long way or short way? Would it be crowded? What should he have for lunch? A sandwich? Mackerel? Was it going to rain? How cold would it be? What words should he stitch into the cloth? Where’s Makoto now? How should he come to the words, **I’m disappearing**_ —

Haruka pounds the door behind him and sends the grouchy dog barking behind it. It always comes back to this.

 

* * *

 

_Haru, um...hi again. So, I’ve arrived here in Tokyo, and I have the address for the apartment where you’re staying, but I’m currently a little lost on the train…I feel really silly about this._

_Ah, well, I’m sure I’ll find you soon anyway._

_I think I’m almost there._

 

* * *

 

_Also, I forgot to ask...how is your day going? Have you been eating well?_

_Are you still having nightmares, Haru?_

_Because I’ll chase them all away! I swear!_  

_Boo!_

_This is me getting nervous again, I think._

_I think I might be leaving too many voicemails._  

_Please stop me._

 

* * *

 

_Ah, you know, I found your apartment but the dog says you stepped out. Should I just...wait here? I had a surprise for you, actually. It's kinda cheesy, but I thought you'd like it. Maybe._

 

* * *

 

_I hope I find you soon, Haru._

 

* * *

 

 ** resolution twelve: ** **sometimes, you'll just know when it's time.  
** **(forty-four days to go)**

 

With the red plaid shirt in his lap, the single word sewn onto the collar, and the rest of the evening ahead of him, Haruka stares out at the nearby park pond, a pool of pink reflecting the end-of-the-day sky.

“I’m disappearing, Makoto.” Haruka says, lightly pricking the point of his needle into the pad his thumb, once for all the times he’s put off practicing the words before. He dares not to break the skin, though, and just works to trace along the lines of his fingerprint.

"I'm disappearing."

After a while, Haruka gets up and stuffs the shirt back into his backpack, along with his thread and needle. Getting closer to the water, he doesn’t try to jump in, but thinks that no dead pool of water would try to get him for sitting so close. Perhaps it’d even make a good listener, if only because he knows it won’t try to say anything back to him.

“I’m disappearing, Makoto,” he practices again with stifled air drying his throat. Haruka says this with his chest huddled against his knees, and shakes his head when this hundredth utterance doesn’t sound right either.

“I’m disappearing.” Still not right. He knows he’s not loud enough to be heard. 

“You know…” Haruka stops himself from even trying. By the sound of his shaking sigh, he knows he's getting too choked up about this.

Wiping his face against a jacket sleeve, he tries to ignore the stinging sensation that he’s grown much too used to under his eyes. He gulps down a giant breath of air, reminds himself that crying isn’t allowed anymore, and only lets the sky take in the sight of him upset.

Maybe today isn't the day to say it. Because even if he does get to run into Makoto, there's just no way he's ready to utter the words.

Eyes fixed at the gradient of pink and deepening dark blue, Haruka meets sparse cloud cover, the yellow hint of a full moon, and in that moment, a single flying, floating paper lantern, recently launched into the sky. In the dimming of the day, Haruka can still make out what’s said on it, written in deep, black ink. Part of him thinks he must be dreaming, but the name is as clear as day:

 _Haru_.

The warm light of the floating lantern calls out to Haruka in the same way he would.

“Haru.”

But when the name is actually spoken this time, Haruka doesn’t turn to face Makoto. He keeps staring up as the lantern floats further and further up into the sky, eyes fixated until he can’t see the word written on it anymore. Makoto doesn’t say anything as Haruka collects himself, and he doesn’t try to get any closer. But all the same, Haruka can feel him standing there, feet also at the edge of the dead expanse of water. And he knows he can’t just avoid his gazes forever, waiting for the sky to change. The stars will never come back.

So when Haruka does look at Makoto, carefully at first, breath stifled by something nervous and excited and _scared_ , he suddenly feels like he hasn’t seen him in years. Makoto just goes on staring too, probably just as apprehensive about things as Haruka is, but it doesn’t take long for that smile to spread across his face. _That familiar, familiar face._ Haruka knows it is everything that this city could never offer him. It is the same face Haruka’s been running from all this time.

It’s the sort of face that demands honesty. Makoto deserves nothing less.

“You brought a star with you.” Haruka breathes out, blurting out the first thing on his mind instead. He scolds himself for it immediately.

Makoto looks up at the sky that isn’t quite night yet, eyes wide at the possibility that there might be one for his best friend, _just one single star for Haru to see,_ but his shoulders slump when he understands. As the lantern almost disappears from view, it almost does look like a star, hazy like a dimly lit planet instead of a bright and twinkling body. The disappointment spreads across Makoto’s face nonetheless, but Haruka will take what he can get.

No, _well_ , that’s not it.

Haruka will love any star that Makoto makes for him.

“You know what stars mean.” Haruka continues.

Makoto seems hesitant, and he should be, because Haruka knows they have other things to discuss, things that are bigger than a silly promise made at the bottom of an empty pool. Makoto’s clearly struggling to find the right words to say, switching between his soundless _ah’s_ and _um’s_ , probably regretting his choice of greeting for this reunion. He stares up again, almost mournful, just a tad resentful of the floating ghost in the sky, before trying to revert to a softer gaze for Haruka.

“But it’s not the real thing, Haru.” Makoto says, eyes still sinking. A small frown forms next, almost like he's saying, _'I couldn't be the one to bring them to you.'_

“It’s real to me.” Haruka’s voice emerges small but sure.

“But…”

“But nothing.” Haruka tells him. “You said you’d kiss me for every star you see.”

And when Haruka finds that they’ve already loomed close enough to touch, unconsciously drawn together like always, he’s the first one to give him a kiss. Breathing into it as if to say, _'I've missed this. I've really, really missed this.'_

Breaking his resolve with a sigh, Makoto gives in with the press of his lips too, probably upset and relieved at the same time. Probably thinking, ‘ _oh god,_ _you still want to kiss me.’_ His hands find Haruka’s next, climbing down his wrist to lace up at the fingers.

Makoto separates from the kiss first and keeps his eyes closed, forehead still pressed to Haruka’s. Haruka sneaks his glances at him, frankly hesitant, before letting himself stare completely in hard-fought breaths. He has to remind himself that this isn’t a nightmare, despite the surreal pink hue of the day, despite the oddity of a floating lantern, despite the fact that, _somehow_ , they’ve both ended up here in Tokyo. Makoto is here. This is real.

“I found you, Haru.” Makoto says, honestly _happy_ , despite the way his voice wavers like he’s about to cry. He still hasn’t opened his eyes to face Haruka after the kiss, keeping them shut like a child's, like he’s scared of something too. Like he’s letting himself be fooled that  _everything’s okay_ for one last time.

_‘I found you.’_

These words kill Haruka and bring him back again, regardless of the forty-four days he has left. He lowers his head into the confines of Makoto’s chest, staying still as the other boy just takes him into a hug. _He can’t keep doing this._ Haruka can’t have him keep thinking that he’s _found him_ , because one day, when the time comes, despite Makoto's full, unwavering faith, despite his willingness to come to places like the _likes of Tokyo,_ he won’t be able to. 

Or worse yet, because Haruka’s lived it time and time again, in nightmares and ill-timed daydreams, Makoto might just forget to look for him altogether.

Either way, Haruka knows it’s time. Makoto deserves honesty.

“Makoto.” Haruka calls out, still muffled against his chest.

“Yes, Haru?”

“I..." A stuttering pause comes when Haruka thinks diving into this headfirst might be the wrong decision.

Makoto doesn't press for him to finish. He just starts to play with the strands of his hair, certainly nervous, _finicky_ , because he knows there's something wrong, but Haruka knows how hard he's trying to hide it.

"I need to tell you something.” Haruka clings onto Makoto tighter, feeling the rapid rise of fall of his chest through his jacket. 

"Anything." Makoto whispers. "Honestly." 

Haruka separates himself from the hug and stares up. Makoto is taking a series of deep breaths, trying to smile for Haruka, but his blinks come in fast, panicked motions, like he's trying not to cry. _Because he knows._ He hasn’t come here to simply bring Haruka home.

Makoto has come all the way to Tokyo, all for the sake of hearing the worst possible news.

" _Haru_." he urges.

Haruka shakes his head, not knowing where to even begin. He closes his eyes, letting go of the hand he still had held, and stares up once more, past the sight of Makoto. Peering up at the sky, the lantern has flown out of sight. Pink has deepened into a full-fledged darkness.

"Anything." Makoto's voice is free of any trembles this time, like he's mustered everything in him to be this way. Haruka stares back at Makoto. His eyes look the same way when he's staring out at the ocean.

"You can do this." Makoto says, showing him another wince of a smile. He wipes away the stray tear rolling down Haruka's cheek, one that he certainly didn’t mean to cry.

Haruka clenches his fists at his sides, lets the new tears rest in his eyes without falling, and glances up once more at the sky in a last ditch effort to see the stars. Because if he did see them now, by some grand miracle, he wouldn't have to recite his practiced words. So he searches the expanse of the city sky for one final measly sign, any at all from the tops of skyscrapers and billowing smoke clouds, behind the shade of trees and telephone poles, without seeing a single, damned thing.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out. One more try. 

"Yes, Haru?"

"It's...dark enough, now." Maybe Makoto can’t see them here, either. The city lights _do_ drown everything out, after all. One more try. Haruka tells himself, _one more try._  

Maybe today’s not the day he'll have to tell him. 

Makoto looks up, too. Eyes wander from space to space.

"Are you going to ask me if I see any stars?"

"Yes." Haruka nods. 

He gets his answer when Makoto kisses him three times for three stars: once, sweetly, on the forehead, once, carefully, under a blistered, crying eye, and once, longingly, on the lips.

As Makoto separates himself from the last kiss, shaking because they both know they've lost, shaking with repeated _I’m sorry’s,_ Haruka thinks it's time to stop running. So, with the warmth of his best friend’s kisses still on his face, eyes loomed up and locked, hands finding themselves linked again, Haruka breathes out the words he will never, ever be ready to say.

Not in Iwatobi, and not in the likes of Tokyo.

Not in a million years. 

Not in a thousand forevers. 

"I'm disappearing, Makoto."

 

 ** resolution thirteen: ** **float, for now.  
** **(forty-three days to go)**

 

Makoto hadn’t cried once.

Throughout all of Haruka’s explanations of the remaining _forty-four days,_ now forty-three, of the _other world_ , of the forgotten memories, and of things never fulfilled, Makoto had only stared out at the pond, offered a few nods, and a couple hollow looks at the dirt. By the end of it, in the full three hours it took Haruka to just get all of it out of his system, Makoto hugged him by the water for another two without much to say to any of it.

“I’m sorry.” Makoto had told Haruka against the brush of his ear, fingers carding his hair. The words left his mouth dozens of times, all with whispered clarity. No sign of crying, save for the shakiness in his voice. Haruka remembers, with prickling panic forming at the back of his ears, how upset Makoto should have been. How upset he never ended up being. 

Back on the bed in the dog’s apartment, Haruka rolls over on his back and stares at the blankness of the ceiling, blinking rapidly until he’s sure he can see splotches of dizzy color, diluting the view of a residual night sky from behind his eyelids. He should be taking comfort in the fact that he hadn’t had any nightmares last night, _just the repeated view of a dark and dazzling sky,_ but worry overcomes him more than anything. 

In his daze, he wonders if telling Makoto has just sped up the process of _forgetting._ Maybe the bonds are already being broken. Maybe, because the other side of the bed is already cold and empty, he has already gone. Leaning over, Haruka even thinks he spots a bit of blood on the white sheets, just two drops worth, and takes it as another bad sign.

But the door creaks open and Makoto comes in, gently smiling at Haruka. He’s carrying a full tray of breakfast, mackerel included, judging from the familiar smell, along with the usual rice, soup, and pickled plums. Sitting up in bed for the sake of closer inspection, Haruka sees that they’ve have been cut up into little star pieces. 

“Good morning, Haru. Or...I guess it’s the afternoon. It is almost twelve.” Makoto tells him, half-amused, setting the tray down on the desk and kissing him four times, four for every plum on the plate. He smiles at him with a bit of cheek, like he’s proud— _a kiss for every star._

In turn, Haruka stares up at him oddly for two reasons: one, Makoto would never know how to make all of this by himself, and two, he still continues _to be okay,_ in tact like everything's all right. _Pleasant._ Trying just a little too hard to make the rest of the world turn.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Makoto muses, laughing a little to himself. 

“Do you?” Haruka asks. _Do you really? Still?_

“The dog is surprisingly good in the kitchen...he’s a master at grilling mackerel, even though he says he hates eating it...I guess I had a lot of help.” Makoto sits down on the bedside and offers Haruka the plate of fish along with a pair of chopsticks.

"So um... _eat well_.” Makoto says, apprehensively. “I might’ve overcooked the rice.” 

Haruka can’t bring himself to stomach anything like this right now. He slides the plate back onto the tray and lets his gaze loom up at Makoto, slowly, a little frown forming on the way up.

“What are you doing?” 

Makoto’s face shows that smile, not the one meant for _after dark_ , or other secret, genuine moments, but one that tries to say, _‘I’m completely fine. I’m completely fine, even though,_ well _, I’m not.’_

“Makoto.” Haruka’s voice rings with worry, as much as he tries to subdue it. 

"I'm fine." The other boy can’t even look him in the eye. 

" _Makoto._ "

"Really, everything is—"

"Please." Haruka pleads, in a way he wouldn't with anyone else.

Makoto sighs and nods along, admitting defeat along the way.

“I was just thinking, Haru.” he starts, lowering his plastered grin into something more sincere. “With everything that’s happening to you…and now that everything’s in the open, shouldn’t we treat ourselves to a nice day?” 

Haruka’s only half-convinced that this isn’t a dream. He tugs on Makoto’s shirtsleeve to make sure he’s actually here, really here in Tokyo with him, but even with that he can’t be sure. His voice just rings with too much _goodbye_ , and the sound of it just makes his ears pop.

“I know it might be hard for the both of us, but…” Makoto tries smiling again, before mashing his lips together to avoid anything else. Everything in him is trying not to cry. The sound of swallowing emerges in the silence of the room, like he was on the verge of finally breaking, but he composes himself and keeps it all together.

“I just thought, since the both of us are here, for a little while at least, that we should take advantage of it.” Makoto breathes out, a bit more determined. “That we could make some more memories here. _Good ones_. Because I'm not... _in denial_ , or anything. I know what's happening to us.”

Scrounging around in his pocket, Makoto takes out a folded piece of lined paper, unfurls it, and searches for the right place to start reading. 

“The goodbye list, by Nanase Haruka.” Makoto gulps down, reassuring himself to keep going with a forced little smile. “Number four— _go on a trip_. _Not sure where, but somewhere_.”

Haruka shakes his head and bunches up more of Makoto’s sweater sleeve in his hands. 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Makoto asks, hopefully. “On your trip?”

“I ran away.” Haruka tries to correct him. _There's a difference and you know this. I ran away from you._

“Well, we’re here now." Again, the fragment of a smile reemerges. The room still hangs heavy with something morose. 

“And...since you’re on this _trip_ , I’d like to make it as special as I can for you.” Makoto looks mighty proud of himself, judging from the light frown on his face. “If you allow me to join you."

Haruka doesn’t say anything, but he lets himself get swallowed up in Makoto’s next hug, his familiar warmth as enveloping as a summer sea. Haruka just nods into Makoto’s shoulder, small as _small_ can get by the embrace. _Of course_ he wants Makoto here. More than anything.

“Yeah.” He answers him simply. _I can try. For you, I will try._

“So it’s set, then?” Makoto separates himself from the embrace, letting Haruka stay close to him, arm still wrapped around his waist, delicately brushing his side.

“What is?” Haruka asks.

"Well," Makoto muses lightly, before returning to something sentimental and honestly sad. “I guess you could say it's our first date." 

And when Haruka nearly feels himself collapse right then and there from a statement so _audacious,_ Makoto looks like he's ready to scold himself for being so bold. But as much as Makoto can find composure, a semblance of _levity_ for such trying times, Haruka thinks he can try, too. He decides, that at least for today, he can still float with him. They don't have to fall back to earth just yet. 

"First date," Haruka repeats back to Makoto, smiling just a little into the next kiss. "Let's go." 

"Okay." Makoto finds the will to laugh, even though it's barely one at all, pulling Haruka closer. 

"Let's go."

Towards their first and last day in Tokyo, together.

 

 

 

 ** resolution fourteen: ** **sometimes you don't have to look for stars; because sometimes, in the strangest, smallest ways, they’ll come to you.  
** **(forty-three days to go)**

 

"I said I'd help you see them somehow, right?" 

Haruka stares up at the sign— _Cosmo Planetarium—_ and follows Makoto inside, hands still lightly held through the front door, past the hanging mobiles of asteroid belts and planets, through this strange little version of the universe itself. 

"A show?" Haruka asks.

Makoto looks over his shoulder and offers him a clever little grin. "It's a little more than that, I think."

When the two of them enter the theater, the hall is nearly empty save for an elderly couple in the front and a few schoolgirls skipping their afternoon classes. They're all in awe over the concave of the dome above them, the place that would soon project stars and other grand things, and Haruka thinks he can't help but feel the same way, too. 

He remembers going to a planetarium as a child with his parents, eyes lighting up at the illuminated sky above him, thinking Neptune was like a giant, circular sea, and he thinks, maybe today's one of those rare days he'll get to feel that way again. 

"It's about to start." Makoto yanks Haruka forward gently, taking their seats in the back. Once their jackets come off and they're settled, shoulder-to-shoulder in their chairs, an attendant comes in to announce that the show will begin in three minutes. Haruka can practically feel the excitement jump up his throat. He’ll finally get to see stars again. 

"Haru." Makoto calls after him.

In the darkness, Haruka looks for his face and is met with a pair ear buds in an outstretched palm, one for each of them to share. Haruka takes one, confused, knowing these sorts of programs are usually narrated, but Makoto seems to catch his drift before he has to ask any questions.

"Trust me," he says, as the lights on the ceiling fade out and the audience's murmurs die out.

The show starts with the time before the Big Bang, the beginning of everything in existence. The darkness overwhelms Haruka at first, because it's the type that's not aided by street-lamps or the warm light of households. It's darkness in its purest form, the type that makes you forget who you are after a while. 

But in that moment of darkness, as if by cue, Makoto turns on his music. The light notes of a single piano come streaming into Haruka's ear, mitigating the opaqueness, and somehow drowning out the deep and academic voice of a foreboding narrator. The lightest notes, hit in the precise moment, feel like something coming into fruition, like something new being born out the  _doom and gloom_ of a low-note piano riff.

In this repeated cycle of death and birth, and at the beginning of this particular universe, Makoto finds Haruka's hand in the darkness.

“You know…”

His voice is low, but Haruka thinks he could hear him through anything, and in staring at him, he misses the Big Bang occur over them on the projector. Makoto misses it too, but he doesn't seem too upset by it. Haruka doesn't actually mind either, because he gets to see the projected starlight on Makoto's face, steaming light along his cheek that just seems to move in tune with the meandering rhythm of the emerging orchestra. 

"Sometimes, when my dad puts on music in the house, the lightest piano notes sound like stars singing." Makoto laughs. "It's a little silly, but I've never been able to shake the thought."

Haruka hears the notes cascade, deep for the darkness behind the stars, and then rising upward again when they light up and erase it.

"Like twinkling." Haruka breathes out. The sound of stars.

Makoto nods, almost a little embarrassed. "Yes, I think that's the word. _Singing stars_ are a bit ridiculous, huh?"

"Not at all." Haruka tells him with a soft little smile and holds onto his hand tighter.

Makoto just holds back harder, too. 

And as Haruka looks up to watch the formation of the Milky Way, each planet and smaller bit of cosmos coming into alignment, he thinks he would have missed seeing the stars more. They all shine bright, dazzling in various hues of a galaxy's white, matching every note of the delicately-played piano, but somehow, despite the wonder of it all, _getting to be reunited with stars,_ he doesn't take any solace in finally seeing them again. They pale in comparison to the stars in his dreams, and they will never compare to the ones Makoto has brought him.

So, closing his eyes to a show he can't truly enjoy, Haruka leans in to kiss Makoto in the dark, letting the singing stars guide him through the galaxy instead. Makoto does the same, hands still held over the armrest. 

"A kiss for every star." Makoto tries to laugh. "I intend to keep that promise today." 

Haruka just kisses him again the moment Makoto’s face is about to break. 

Hands are still held as they cross the universe, a slow and sonorous trip made for two boys who could use a little more time.

 

* * *

 

_I kinda lied, when I said I’d be calling my mom._

_Is it odd, to be sending you a voicemail...in the middle of a date?_

_I guess it is, but you never check them anyway, so it must be all right this time. Part of me hopes you never check, because they’re always really embarrassing, and they’re always me worrying over nothing. Ah...well, I guess I’m wrong this time. There is a lot to worry about now, isn’t there?_  

_I don’t think I’ve ever sent you so many voicemails before. I guess it’s because I know I’m forgetting you, and now that I know our time is limited...I’d like for some way for keep myself here for you, even when I can’t be. I guess part of me does want you to check your messages, when the time is right._

_Anyway, I guess this is the first one with some substance. Here it goes..._

_The way you watch the starfish is too cute. I love the way you try to high-five them through the glass. I love the way your eyes light up when you watch the water. I love—_  

_Ah...no. I think this is something else I should say in person. I’d like to get there, soon._

_Onward on this first date! Let’s keep things light._

 

* * *

 

“Makoto.”

“Yes, Haru?” Makoto answers him dreamily, like he’s still trapped in a classical song.

After spending the first half of the afternoon in a planetarium, the latter half visiting starfish at the aquatic center, and an evening sipping tea and having snacks at a cafe called _Orion’s Belt,_ Makoto and Haruka have ended up at the world’s second largest Ferris wheel, exhausted, out of levity, and begging for this seventeen minute ride to be over and done with.

Still, as the two lean against each other, waiting for the wheel to reach the very top of the rotation, they don’t dare let go of their hands. They refuse to let go of the lightness they have left. 

Haruka takes his gaze away from the cosmos of the city under him and faces Makoto in all honesty.

“You’re not having fun, are you?” he asks Makoto, a small and tired smile emerging on his face. 

Makoto sighs and lowers his shoulders, like he’s been waiting to do this all day. He keeps that smile on his face, _weary_ , no longer trying to keep the world spinning. No, instead it looks like he’s trying to keep it from collapsing over him, all because he’s been carrying it for a long, long time.

“Haru.” he rolls his head over to face Haruka completely. “Please.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Haruka mutters next to Makoto, even if it pains him to say it.

“ _Haru_.” Makoto pleads again.

“You want me to be happy.” Haruka throws out each word carefully, slowly, like he can hardly believe he’s saying this himself. Their telepathy has become second nature, and sometimes the words are left unsaid, but there are also some things that shouldn’t be avoided. They _can’t_ be. So he forces himself to spit out the words, because otherwise, they’ll just keep trying to fool each other by floating. Because even though they might be thinking the same things, ‘ _I’m disappearing from sight’_ and ‘ _I’m forgetting you’_ , because even though they know, _innately_ , that everything is about to change, _that they’re not going to make it,_ Haruka can’t let them hang in this place of disbelief. He can’t run anymore. Places like Tokyo, with stars at every corner, with the universe at their fingertips, aren’t real. 

"But I'll be gone soon." Haruka continues. "You know this."

Still, despite the words, despite everything Haruka has poured out to Makoto in the past day, he still doesn’t dare to cry. Haruka once thought, _‘please, please don’t cry over me,’_ selfishly, _cruelly_ , and he wonders if he’s accidentally casted a spell on Makoto.

Because as much as he doesn’t want anyone to cry, as much as Haruka usually tries to keep everything hidden away, for as long as possible, he knows it’s not right to keep it all in, either.

“So how can we be?” Haruka asks him. “Happy?”

“Because it’s our first date, and I’m kissing you for every star—”

“Makoto.” _Please don’t make me say it again._

Makoto lowers his eyes onto the ground.

“We still have the rest of this day.” he says. “I still want to give you that.” 

“It’s almost over.” Haruka argues back. 

“But it _isn’t_ , yet.” Makoto tries to smile through the resistance, through his every urge to give up. “I still have four hours to make you as happy as I can. _Four hours_. Please... _please_ let me give this to to you, Haru.” 

“Makoto…” 

Reaching into his pocket, Makoto pulls out a small sheet of gold star stickers, each of them barely bigger than an eye's dilated pupil, and gently peels one back, slipping one of Haruka’s gloves off and pasting it on the back of his palm. Raising the hand to his lips, Makoto kisses the designated space and keeps it there, letting his warm and tired breath tell the story: he’s at his limit, almost ready to break, almost ready to come crashing back to earth with Haruka—but he refuses to let go. Every huff against his skin says, _not yet. Not yet. Not yet._

Like he’s saying, _‘I still have more to show you.’_

So, in response, in a _yes_ he has to reluctantly admit he wants to say too, Haruka sighs and raises himself to kiss Makoto just once, right at the point when their compartment reaches the top of the Ferris wheel. And even though they’ve been waiting to see the rest of Tokyo under their feet, because most people usually reach for that high point, to that place with the stars, Haruka thinks that they might’ve never had one to begin with. There’s no point in looking up when they’ve been doing is falling.

“Okay.” Haruka tells him, separating from the kiss. 

“Show me what you have left.”

_'Let us try to fall gently.'_

 

 ** resolution fifteen: ** **face him.**  
 **(forty-three days to go)**

 

With stickers littered all over Haruka's body like a small quadrant of the galaxy, Makoto keeps his promise and kisses him for every single star he sees. 

They had started innocently enough, just the two of them in bed under the blankets with only the dim light of a desk lamp on. The first sticker came midway through one of their longer kisses, pressed against Haruka's cheek by the cup of Makoto's hand. 

"I said I'd do this for you, didn't I?" Makoto had asked him, whispered against his ear after kissing him for the first sighting. The next star came up against his temple, falling away as soon as the brush of Makoto's finger had found it.

Clothes came off and their version of the cosmos was born, sticker-by-sticker, kiss by tender kiss. Haruka did not object to the constellations drawn up on his skin. He will continue to love any star that Makoto makes.

And now they were here, kissing still, taking their time with every single star, devoted to celebrating every bit of each other.

Haruka separates from the comfort of Makoto's lips and takes the time to look down at his work.  A few of them have stuck themselves up his arm and elegantly on back of his wrists. Little golden bits dance down the center of his chest, some settled on his pecs like they're at the galaxy's edge. The stars that have made it onto his stomach rise and fall with each heavy and wanting breath, some threatening to slip right off the jut of his hip bones altogether. And on his legs, some creep dangerously, _daringly_ up his thigh with little regard for anything else, begging to be swept right off his skin.

"They're in your bangs, too." Makoto laughs, running the space between each of his fingers through Haruka's washed hair. He picks one of the stickers out and kisses Haruka right above the eyelid in payment for it, making the other squirm a little under him in return. The tips of Makoto's fingers delicately trace Haruka's skin, down his chest and teasing the elastic of his underwear, like he's making a galactic expedition, slow but sure in where he's going.

"Whose fault is that?" Haruka sits up and watches a few fall off his skin, decorating the bed under them.

"Right...sorry." Makoto leans in and kisses Haruka with a proud little smile, nearly sending him back down onto the bed in the process. Haruka pushes back and helps him out of his shirt, yanking it right over his head. Finding a fallen sticker on the sheets, Haruka sticks it on one of Makoto's collarbones and leaves a small and nibbling kiss. 

"Don't you find this silly at all?" Makoto asks, tucking some of Haruka's hair behind his ear and smooching him again on the side of the head.

"If I did, I wouldn't let you do this to me." Haruka answers simply. Makoto kisses Haruka on the cheek, further illuminating the redness on his face. A surrendering sort of smile follows, and Makoto lets it falter for just a moment before finding the willpower to keep it.

"Oh, Haru." Makoto calls out, hiding his face against Haruka's shoulder. His arms loom and meet behind Haruka's back in a hug, hands tracing the inordinate amount of stars on his back. Haruka lets himself rest against Makoto too, dizziness threatening to overcome him altogether.

"Makoto." Haruka hates how much the syllables come out like a small plead in itself, because this isn't what he practiced. _Ma-ko-to._ They sound like a desperate call to stay, despite the other thoughts swirling like an unavoidable solar storm.

_'I'm disappearing.'_

_'You're forgetting.'_

Hands grabbing at Makoto's wrists, Haruka pulls him down on top of him for the millionth time, begging him for the warmth of another round of kisses. Makoto complies without a word, digging into him with more urgency than before. Haruka throws his arms around him and lets out a whimper when their bodies mash together, the firm press of Makoto's weight against him making him lock up for just a second.

Makoto parts from him and raises himself to kiss Haruka, dragging his lips down to his forehead. Gently pushing Haruka's bangs back with combing fingers, Makoto breathes against Haruka's fevered skin and finds the loose star hidden beneath his hair, brushing it off of him completely with another sweet and longing kiss.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out again.

"Yes, Haru?" Makoto answers him, partly preoccupied with kissing him all over.

"Why...did you put so many on my back?" Haruka asks.

Makoto meets Haruka in the eye, gaze wild with something embarrassed. His mouth has a hard time deciding whether or not it wants to frown or stay blank, maybe even smile.

"Because...I'd have a place to kiss you when...we...I _mean_ , only if you want to." Makoto stutters, hand still curiously keeping Haruka's hair pushed back, fingers searching for any hidden stars in his strands.

"I want to." Haruka says, frowning slightly up at him, wrapping his fingers around his arm and leaving a small kiss on the underside of his wrist. "But this is different, isn't it?"

"You don't mean..." Makoto clears his hand away and puts Haruka's bangs back into place, fingers skimming right off his head and finding its place on the side of the pillow.

"I do." It doesn't take long for Haruka to find his palm and to slide his own hand right in the center of it, keeping them held tight and close together.

"Wait, _Haru_..."

"Can I face you today?" Haruka asks before Makoto can say anything else, eyes lingering up as he poses the question.

Makoto looks like he's about to faint, shoulders heaving forward. He's stuttering with the words he forgets he wanted to say.

" _Haru._ " He repeats Haruka's name in turmoil, and for a moment it just feels like the former's going to break over him completely. But he doesn't; no, he just smiles in relief and kisses him again, if only in an attempt to hide the way his face falls apart on his way down. 

"So...yes?" Haruka asks, the tips of their noses still touching in closeness.

"Yes." Makoto nods, keeping his eyes closed, somehow finding it in himself to laugh. "Of course."

Haruka's breath escapes in a squeak as Makoto comes in to kiss him, firmly, like he's been holding back all this time. His hands un-clasp from Haruka's as they travel down past his sides and to his legs, delicate touch spreading across the skin and bringing them apart. The stars on his thighs stay intact, despite the way Makoto drags the boxers right off of Haruka altogether.

As Makoto sits up to admire the view under him, Haruka, _his Haru_ , heaving on the sheets, a shy smile turns into something brighter. Something grateful. 

"You know," Makoto says, "when you first told me you couldn't see stars...I wished that I couldn't see them, either."

Haruka opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Breathlessly, he shakes his head, because no one should have to be blind to them in the way he is.

"But if that were the case, I wouldn't get to kiss them off of you like this."

Makoto dips downward and nips Haruka right under the chin where another star rests. This sends Haruka’s head rolling back on the pillow, heated exhales escaping in winces when Makoto’s hands loom closer and closer to his thighs again. Makoto pulls his kisses further down Haruka’s neck, his own breathing becoming more burdensome with every second he stays on him, too. But he forges on, laying his kisses down on his collarbones and lapping every gold bit up near his nipples, hands teasing the hardness between Haruka’s legs with smooth, sliding motions.

“Aa... _ah_ ….” Haruka throws his head to the side, barely keeping his eyes open and letting himself sink into his pillow. He thinks about how long it’s been since Makoto’s touched him like this, probably before his near-drowning incident at Samezuka, and lets his system wilt with every whole-body sigh. 

“Every. _Single_. Star.” Makoto murmurs from sticker to sticker, playing connect-the-dots on Haruka’s abdomen. He shows no sign of his usual trepidation, still careful but not in a way that rings with any sort of the fear he showed their very first time. He’s attentive, eyes looming periodically to make sure no part of Haruka is uncomfortable in a _bad_ way, all without breaking his slow and steady rhythm. _Bold_ , in a quiet, caressing manner. 

“ _M-Ma..._ koto…” Haruka reaches down his own body, following the same trail Makoto had just made, hands tracing over the remnants of stars untouched. He tells himself to relax, to find a place to hold on to, when Makoto wraps the bend of his arms around his legs, wholly devoted to nibbling every moistened star on his inner thighs and licking every sensitive bit of skin in between them. He orbits around each sticker, lurching forward in a mix of kisses and licks, breathily peeling off some of them with the very edge of his teeth, pouring Haruka's name out in aches and sighs. 

It's a voice that urges, painfully enduring,  _'I want you more than anything, but I'm going to take my time with you.'_

And just when Haruka’s defenses have been nearly lulled into nothing, Makoto takes him in into his mouth with his hands circled around in support, groaning lightly against his shaft as he slides upward to motion. Haruka lets the grip of his hands wilt off Makoto’s shoulders and moans with each his bobbing laps, body reduced to heat and incoherence and all things heavy, like he'll just sink through the plush of the comforter altogether.

"Ma...koto..." Haruka feels his body jerk upward with every twitch, skin of sticky lips unwillingly parted in low moans.

Makoto lets himself breathe deep after a while, still keeping his face in between Haruka’s thighs. Against Haruka's most sensitive parts, up and down, then digging  _further down_ , he leaves adoring kisses, long-held and puckering, nuzzling in an attempt to further tease.

“Haru…you're still tense, I think.” 

" _Mm_." Haruka averts his gaze, frowning up at Makoto slightly, pained because he  _just wants him already_ , exhales hidden behind the back of his hand.

"Let me help you." Makoto whispers, out of breath, like he can barely contain himself anymore. “Can you put your pillow under you?”

Haruka complies, sighing hard with his nods, slipping it from beneath his head and letting his hips rest on it with legs raised towards his chest. Makoto drags Haruka closer to him by his ankles and kisses down the other thigh this time, spreading his legs wider but not stopping at his usual place. Following the errant line of stickers straight down to the bottom, making sure to kiss and lick voraciously at every single one, Makoto raises Haruka's hips even more and takes a stiff tongue into him, digging in gradually into his opening. This sends Haruka into a fit further up the mattress, writhing in failing to keep painfully still, _in_   _failing to really relax._  Breath hot and heavy, Makoto continues to press in between intermittent pantings, tongue working tirelessly, _relaxing, tensing,_  to open up Haruka even more with every flick and swirl. 

“ _Mh...ah…ko...”_ Haruka cries, lips parted, every soft moan ending in sighs.

Makoto digs in deeper in response. His groans accompany the way his arms tighten around Haruka's shaking legs. 

“ _Please_ …” Haruka begs. “Ma...koto…” At this point, he just wants all of him and the other knows it, too. Eyes closed, Haruka lets his whole body sink when Makoto stops with his mouth’s motions, kissing right back up his stomach and chest to catch the stars he’s missed before. In just the slightest reprieve, Haruka hands him the lubricant on the edge of the nightstand and lets Makoto work him with reaching fingers, barely finding the air to kiss him again. Makoto yanks the pillow away from under him, takes care of his own trousers quickly, and scoops Haruka up by the back, gracing the sheets with more fallen stars along the way. 

Against the nape of Makoto’s neck, Haruka hides away his sighs and the incomplete mouthing of Makoto’s name, already too indisposed with the feel of him.

“Let's go,” Haruka whispers weakly into his ear, hand barely grazing the other boy’s cheek.

“Okay.” Makoto whispers right back, laying Haruka back on the bed to receive him with another barely-there kiss. The rise and fall of Makoto's shoulders say, _keep it slow. Take your time._

_Admire all there is to admire._

_Feel all there is to feel._

His eyes wander all over the boy under him, impatient, barely restrained.

_Every single second of you._

It’s times like this, while staring up and knowing that they're completely enthralled with each other, where Haruka he thinks he might actually start believing in things like _telepathy_.

Legs open again, spread by Makoto’s simplest, lingering motions. Makoto leans over Haruka, nice and slow, kissing him in the gentlest, caressing motions. He’s telling Haruka, by the faint brush of air against skin, to _calm down._ Because none of it is new. _T_ _his is just something that we do._

But as Makoto takes the plunge and Haruka holds onto him harder, finally getting to face him after all this time, looking up at the light struggle in his best friend’s face, feeling his own in tandems of pressure and the slight pain, Haruka knows that is more than _just something they do._ It has never been that trivial. Haruka would never do this with anyone else. With hands finding themselves held again against the mounting pleasure and prickle of things, he knows that Makoto feels the same.

 “ _Ah…ma...ha..ko…”_

Haruka rolls his whole body up along with Makoto’s thrusts, feeling skin chafe against fabric, _skin glide against skin_. Every star on his body falls out of alignment when they mesh together, sweat ruining the adhesive.

_“Haru…”_

But Makoto will kiss him regardless of whether or not they remain. In their reunion, they will keep their eyes locked like they’re the only things in the universe left to look at. 

Haruka already knows he's absolutely ruined. Makoto looks like he feels the same way about him.

“ _I love you,_ Haru.” 

And although this is the thing Haruka’s always been afraid to hear, more than anything else on their path to finding and slowly losing each other, he has known, _somehow,_ that it would all lead to this. It has always been on Makoto’s lips, silently mouthed but never spoken; now that they have been, Haruka thinks that he never wants Makoto to stop saying it. It feels just right, _perfect_ , coming from him, like a panacea for all the sinking he’s been doing. As his hips hitch up from the sheets in heat and lightness, he wishes he had heard it sooner. Haruka regrets every instance he’s stopped it from leaving Makoto’s mouth.

“Makoto…”

“I love you.” Makoto repeats into his ear, barely heard this time with his concentration pouring into every pulse. “ _I love you_.” 

Haruka swallows back his own affirmations, his ‘ _I love you too_ ,’ and stares helplessly up at him, focus repeatedly threatened by the throbbing between his shaking legs, this full-on force that gets even their plastered stars to die and turn into nothing. But still, despite it all, Haruka wants to say it more than anything, _‘I love you too, and I always, always will,’_ but he knows he shouldn’t. Not if he wants those remaining days with him. More days to revel and  _sigh_ and be taken like this.

And Makoto seems to understand completely, shaking his head, motioning Haruka not to try. A small smile breaks across his face regardless, completely at ease, as if to say, _‘it doesn’t matter if I can’t hear you say it.’_

_‘Because every part of me knows it anyway.’_

His smile just grows, breathlessly, hopelessly in adoration. He wipes away the tears forming in the corner of Haruka’s eyes. 

_‘Because I know you love me.’_

And this is all Haruka needs. He beams up at his best friend, weakly at _the boy in the bed_ , before letting himself get carried away altogether.

“ _More_...I want...to feel you _more_ …” Haruka sighs, separating from another air-stealing kiss, head cocking back on the mattress until his neck's craned almost all the way back.

Haruka closes his eyes in anticipation, letting his whole body take in every part of Makoto, locking his legs himself tighter around him. The gasps and moans shared between them grow more honest when Makoto reaches into him deeper, _harder_ , their hands still held regardless of everything they’re putting into each other. 

 _“More.”_ Haruka sighs out senselessly, sunken blue eyes doing all of the begging.

_Admire all there is to admire._

_Feel all there is to feel._

His gaze wanders all over the boy on top of him, barely breathing, barely existing at all.

_Every single second of you._

“ _Ha...Haru…”_ Makoto calls weakly in response, because it’s clear he’s on the verge. Pressing his weight into Haruka further, he finds him for another kiss, shuddering into it with everything he has, desperate to connect in every _single_ , possible way.

“ _Makoto._ ” Haruka begs as he parts his mouth from him, lips still touching despite the separation, slowed-down sighs exchanged between each other. By this point, Makoto cannot even try to form any coherent string of words, resigning himself to fluttering, halted stares, only mouthing his two favorite syllables, _Ha-ru._ Each call is weaker than the last. Their silence is heated, formed by their _almost there's_ and the sensation of breaking.

Every hard and tensed pulse taunts Haruka to let go. _Let go, let go, let go. Let him fill you up completely already._ But Haruka clings onto Makoto despite it all, breathing his name over and _over and over_ with each stuttering thrash and slam, because if it’s time to really fall away this time, if gravity is going to overcome the both of them, he will hold on and wait for Makoto, too. For as long as he still can.

“ _Ha...ru…”_ Makoto calls out, voice found again, if only barely, putting everything he can into these last moments. “I’m…”

 _“Makoto...Makoto…”_ Haruka keeps his eyes on him, cracked voice barely able to believe he can say anything else at all at this point. Bodies have become one, heaving each other forward on the sheets, stars burning away from his skin in droves in order for them to find each other.

 _“Makoto…”_ It is a voice that cries out with all it has left, in one last moment of clarity.

 _‘Please, please let me keep him—’_  

_‘Makoto—’_

_‘My Makoto—’_

_"_ A _...Ah—!"_  

Haruka jolts his head forward, moaning hard into Makoto in his final, heated release. Letting faintness overcome him, he welcomes the full weight of Makoto completely as he comes too, yelping when he fills him up entirely. The sound of their breathing, pained and heavy sighs, are the only thing that’s left after a while. 

Still, in the silence of things, eerily mournful but at peace all the same, hands still find a way to be held.

Makoto still reaches for a kiss, tiredly easing into a sleepy, barely-there smile, still finding a way to hold Haruka close.

And slowly, but surely, because Makoto has always been fated to break, Haruka finally watches his face crumble into nothing, eyes reddening and watering the moment the beam begins to falter. But regardless of the tears falling, regardless of their first and last day in Tokyo, regardless of the fact that they’re just meant to fall and _fall_ and _fall,_ Makoto doesn’t let that smile die completely. He keeps it for Haruka to see in between his inaudible sobs.

And through it all, he still beckons for Haruka to unfold his hand. In the center of his palm rests two stars, oddly stuck together at the prongs.

“A kiss for every star.” he explains again, in nothing but a sad, little whisper.

Haruka smiles for that kept promise, welcoming the second kiss without any trouble, but he can’t help but start crying, too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to say thank you for reading through this ridiculously long chapter. ;-; I find that as I write these chapters, a general theme usually presents itself when I go through it, and the idea of floating / falling really did that this time! So...I guess that's really it. This was probably the longest chapter I've ever written, and probably ever will write...
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the awful attempt at emotionally-charged smut, I guess q_q (not really)
> 
> Here are the usual handles: @asplendidmoon on twitter and companions.tumblr.com ! Till next time! 
> 
> (Please keep an eye on clues huhuhu)


	10. for the sake of everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'Let's find our good days.'_  
>  _'Let's keep being together.'_  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (warning for blood in this chapter, if you're sensitive to that!)

 

* * *

 

_Good morning, Haru._

_Well, I guess it's technically morning if it's three o'clock, right? I said I’d try to leave as much of these voicemails as possible, and I really want to keep my promise...so I guess recording one early is better than nothing at all. I can't sleep anyway._

_Is my voice too low to hear? I'm trying not to wake you up, so I'm sorry if it is. Anyway...in all honesty, I was going to say something else, but well..._

_The truth is that I’m just not ready to start the day. You know, when the real morning comes. I'm not ready to move on from last night._

_I get that we have to go back home and face things, see what happens next, but part of me wishes we could just stay here. Well, a lot of me does._

_I wish we didn’t have to get on the plane. I wish we could just stay in this apartment in Tokyo with the dog and carry on like nothing’s wrong. We could go on more dates and find our favorite places and get lost on our way to them. I wish—I_ want _a lot of things, Haru. But counting on things like stars? I...just can’t believe in them anymore. I think they've let us down a lot._  

_Well, maybe I should stop myself from even saying anything else. I think these messages should be kind of light, right? Well…this is what I really wanted to say, before I got carried away—_

_I hope we get to have a good day. That’s all I want, more than anything. Lots and lots of good days._

 

* * *

 

 ** resolution sixteen ** **: please take care.  
** **(forty-two days to go)**

 

Sometimes, when Haruka sleeps next to Makoto, he'll keep a single light on to ward off the darkness. It's not something he does all the time, because _the fear of the dark_ is something that fades with time and age, but he thinks, that once in a while, Makoto needs it. Because for as long as Haruka can even remember, Makoto has always been radiant for everyone else, all while forgetting to keep himself warm at times. So, even if it's a small little light, barely flickering at all, Haruka knows he'll reach out, get it, and give it to Makoto himself. 

_'I have to get it to you.'_

Hands reach out into the limitless sky.

 _'No matter what, no matter where we're going next, I have to get it to you.'_  

This is what dreams tell him. When Makoto is holding out the lamp for the huddled masses, ready to give without taking anything for himself, ready to stare out into the dark so his face doesn't accidentally hog the lamplight, Haruka will make sure he gets his share, too. Well, no—he should get more than _a simple share._  

 _'Because you deserve suns.'_ The voice in his head conjures up, desperate and running. Determined to deliver that light. Haruka keeps on running and running and running.

His childhood, a series of sweet little blurs, flashes by next. One moment, he's turning on a lamp during a thunderstorm with the simple yank of a chain. In the next, he's lighting a candle for his best friend's birthday cake. A firefly perches itself on his finger during one summer night, fluttering before settling. There are night-lights and glow-in-the-dark party tubes, gold glitter paste and small windows of sun. In one instance, Haruka's the one to give Makoto the last sparkler in the pack, small hands brushing in the exchange.

 _'I have to get it to you.'_ Over and over again, the unfamiliar voice just layers itself over every single memory, like it's been calling out all this time. 

 _'Before we go our separate ways.'_  

With that last line of speech, voice slowing into a gentle, conceding whisper, whisper saying, _goodbye and goodnight,_ nostalgia turns into nightmare.

Haruka jolts up in bed with a small, choked-out squeak and a cold sweat, drawing his knees to his chest and leaning over them to catch his breath. Looking over his shoulder, Makoto is dead asleep next to him, huddled under the safety of blankets and a lamp still left on. _Still here._ His hand is still gripping his phone on the pillow, the other lightly tugging on Haruka’s wrist. Haruka shakes him loose and exhales, slow and sore and seared with residual panic.

_‘Before we go our separate ways.’_

“Stop.” Haruka whispers, practically barking at himself. “Not yet.”

Peering up at the clock on the nightstand, Haruka finds the time: four-thirty. Still night, by all accounts. Not wanting to wake Makoto up, he gets up and finds his pants on the floor, slipping them on with achy yawns, brushing leftover stickers off in the next instance. Taking one more look at Makoto, he leans over the bed and pastes the leftover star onto Makoto's cheek, kissing him gently to chase away the post-crying blotchiness. Makoto just stirs and stays asleep, his lips curling upward into the smallest smile. The star falls off promptly.

“Mm _._.. _Haru_.” he calls out, still asleep. Haruka just leaves another kiss at the top of his back and climbs out of bed, digging into his backpack and unfolding the red plaid shirt. He takes one more look at the sewn message he’s left inside the collar and allows himself a smile too, thinking of placing it right next to him to find later.

And when Haruka does get closer to him again, that’s when he first notices. _Red._ There’s a drop of dried blood on Makoto’s chin, hardly bigger than a medium pen’s ballpoint nib, but it’s enough for Haruka to notice right away. He glances downward at the sheets, remembering the blood he saw that previous morning, and finds more of the same—bits of blood mixing with fallen stars, the unwanted forming of a new and terrible constellation.

“Makoto?” Haruka breathes out, instantly terrified. He traces his fingers over the droplets and even leans over him to make sure that he’s still breathing. Wait— _of course he’s breathing. Relax. Breathe. He called ‘Haru’ in his sleep._  

_‘He’s fine.’_

_‘Calm down.’_ Haruka tells himself. _‘The gods promised you. They wouldn’t do anything to Makoto. They promised you.’_ With a deep breath, he shakes his head and feels the heaviness weigh him down, legs dragging like anchors on his way out of bed. He marches into the hallway and into the sitting room, finding the dog laying on the couch with the glow of the early-morning television illuminating the room in sick and eerie hues.

“Well, I see you’re up.” The dog says in a huff. “You know, I understand that you two _have needs_ , but I really had a terrible night at poker and would’ve loved to actually sleep in my own bed...honestly, all those _hours_ —”

“You promised me.” Haruka spits out. 

“What?” 

“I said I’d disappear if you left him alone.”

The dog frowns, swatting at his remote and letting it drop on the floor. Channels switch, filling the room with the jumbled static of dead and nonexistent air.

“Listen, Nanase, whatever problems you have with the gods, they’re not mine to solve.”

“Get them here, then. I need to speak to them.” Haruka urges. “Please.”

“ _Sheesh,_ not even a _‘good morning_ ’…” The dog grumbles.

“ _Please._ ”

“Okay! _Okay_...I mean, I guess you’re in luck.” The dog looks wildly all around, up at the ceiling, under the coffee table, at the television. “Who do you think I was playing poker with last night?” 

“You mean?”

“They’re still here.” The dog says, hushed, in absolute reverence.

From there, the light from the television cuts out altogether, leaving the entire room in darkness. Haruka stares back at the screen, waiting for that familiar green text to creep its way onto the black backdrop, but it never appears. Instead, there is only the sight of a lakeside town dimly lit by weak, cracked lanterns, with only the moon appearing under a starless, violet sky. Shadows of people walk by, slowly in procession, stumbling like they're holding a funeral in the dark.

In yellow text, barely big enough to be read, it says:

**_Hello, Nanase Haruka. Pleasure to see you again._ **

Haruka shakes his head over and over. “ _Why_?” he asks, cutting right to the chase.

**_Why what?_ **

“You know.” Haruka kneels down in front of the television. “You promised me. Nothing happens to Makoto if I disappear.” 

The words on the screen fade out for a moment, panning towards two abandoned storefronts, both of them with signs torn down. Ivy climbs up the windows of one of them.

 ** _We have not done anything to harm him._**  

“Don’t lie.” Haruka feels himself raise his voice. “Don’t lie to me!”

**_It’s too much work to lie to you, silly little boy._ **

**_We have kept our promises._**  

**_We will continue to keep our promises._ **

“Then... _why_ …” Haruka feels his hands sinking to his sides. “I saw blood. Makoto’s blood.”

**_It is not our blood to clean._ **

**_What makes you think it has anything to do with us?_ **

“Because you’re always _..._ you’re _always…_ ” _You’re always trying to ruin us._ Haruka can’t even finish his sentence, just in the fear of pushing them further. _Fear._ He hates having to live in it, day in and day out, _repeatedly_ and constantly vigilant, but he has no choice now. He never had one to begin with.

**_Maybe it’s nothing at all._ **

“Of course it is.” Haruka calls. “Of course it’s something.” He has heard of what others have called _omnipotence and omnipresence._ There is never supposed to be any _maybe_ with the gods.

**_Well, this time it has nothing to do with us._ **

**_Maybe something else is eating at him._**  

“Don’t _maybe_ me!” Haruka shouts. “Come on!” 

But the gods don’t say anything else. On the television screen, one last glimpse of Makoto appears, middle school aged, holding up a gas lantern above his head. He’s leading someone behind him, the small view of another hand holding his. He’s chattering on about something wordlessly, beckoning up at the sky. Haruka sees one last view of the sky, now full of stars, before the television cuts out altogether.

In the hallway, Haruka hears footsteps and the sound of Makoto coughing hard in the bathroom, gasping and stumbling. Haruka doesn't have time to ponder about the oddity of gas lamps or any other impossible memories, leaving it behind instantly to find his burdened boy.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're...hacking up _blood?_ " Haruka asks Makoto, turning the faucet off and letting the pinkness of the tub water settle in a dying _swish_ under them.

"It's fine, I went to a doctor for it before I came here." Makoto tells him with a disarming shake of the head, stretching his legs on the floor. The terry rug they're sitting on is too small for the both of them to share.

"And?"

"The tests said that everything was fine. One hundred percent healthy." Makoto smiles for Haruka, _close-mouthed,_ because he probably doesn't want to show Haruka any of the residual crimson on his teeth.

"But this isn't normal." Haruka tells him as Makoto leans over the edge of the bathtub again, heaving hard and finding that he's only producing empty air.

"It's just stress." Makoto sighs. "That's all it is."

"You've never done this over _stress._ "

"But this isn't exactly something I'm prepared for, Haru." Makoto tells him, his voice on the verge of breaking.

Looking into the water again, Haruka catches the flash of Makoto crying over Haruka at the Samezuka pool, of his words, _"I don't want to lose you, Haru,"_ and _"I'd never want to lose you."_ Haruka lets these thoughts wash away, knowing that they'll only bob back later.

And they do in full force, pristine like a message in a tightly corked bottle. Words never forgotten, because a best friend's blatant, _unabashed_ fear is not something one can ever forget, in sight, in words—

_"I just have this feeling like...I'm losing you, somehow."_

Haruka shudders. _'You are losing me.'_

_"It's an awful feeling, like you're slipping away from me."_

_'I am slipping away from you.'_ Teeth gnaw over correctly placed premonitions. Annoying use of telepathy.

_"And it sounds stupid, I know it does, because you're here. You're right here. But I just have a bad feeling about things."_

_'Well, you were right about that.'_

_'You were right about everything.'_

Haruka swallows hard and lets the early morning shakiness mix with the trepidation dancing in his system, ultimately surrendering into the nape of Makoto's neck to settle himself. Makoto takes a heavy arm around Haruka too, burying themselves in each other.

"Haru." Makoto nearly chokes in saying. 

"My time with you is already nothing." Haruka tells him, close to the ear. "Don't make it into anything less than that." 

Makoto doesn't say anything right away and just opts to play with Haruka's hair, twiddling strands, obviously nervous. Deep and wavering sighs give away just how upset Makoto still is, but it's not like they had stopped crying that long ago to warrant much hiding anyway. Stars still stick to his skin and soreness pervades. The wounds of ' _I'm disappearing'_ are still fresh. 

And for that, Haruka lets himself hold on tighter, pressing the whole of his body against Makoto's.

"I won't." Makoto shakes his head. "I promise I'll get myself checked out again, once we get back to Iwatobi." 

"You'll take care of yourself?"

"I'll take care of myself."

"Okay," he mutters, even though Haruka knows, deep down, that this isn't something that has to do with X-Rays or other medical tests. When they separate from their embrace, stares exchanged in resignation, he gets the sense that Makoto knows, too. Something inside him is clinging onto him and eating him up, coughing up blood like spitfire.

It's monstrous and incorrigible, and Haruka just wishes he could see what it is.

But instead of finding it, Makoto interrupts him by raising a usual thumb to wipe at a reddened, blistered eye, and kissing the daylights out of Haruka.

 

* * *

 

 

_Haru—_

_You know how I used to be scared of the dark as a kid? How you always had to climb out of the blankets to plug in the night light for me? You always said, in your little grumble, 'ah, but I'm already warm, Makoto,' or 'do it yourself, Makoto,' but you always helped me anyway._

_Well, sometimes, I feel like you're still doing things like that for me. It's a thought I haven't been able to shake all morning at the airport._

_I think it's one of the many, many things I love about you, Haru. With you—your night lights, your pats on the back, those kisses you sneak when you think I'm asleep—those little gestures help me to be brave about things._

_Like today, you held my hand all the way to the tarmac, leading me the whole time. Stuff like that makes things easier, I guess._

_Well...not easier. Because it's not going to get any easier._

_I guess it puts a little more fight in me, though._

 

* * *

 

 

 ** resolution seventeen: ** **hold on to what's left.  
** **(forty-one days to go)**

 

Haruka lies on the floor of the house that was once his, still drowsy with sleep and a previous day's travel. With Makoto at the doctor's and then school, reluctant to go to either in the first place, Haruka thinks about getting up, putting on his uniform, and waiting for him in the classroom, but he feels too heavy to even sit up.

"So my parents have already...?" 

The cat nods solemnly, curling up a bit closer to Haruka and sighing into his fur.

"I bought the house, so you'll still have a place to stay."

"Wouldn't they wonder about my things?"

The cat shakes his head. "When the movers came, they brushed right past your room. Almost like it didn't exist in the first place."

Haruka feels like sinking further into the floor.

"Ah." He just breathes out.

"I did manage to save some things for you, though." The cat gets up and goes into the other room, pushing a box full of photos with his head towards Haruka. Haruka finds it in himself to get up and help him out, finding a plethora of old family photographs. Haruka is in several of them—he's eating watermelon with his grandmother in one instance, cooking with his dad in the next, holding hands with first grader Makoto in another. And part of him is glad he's still in all of these, _still existing_ , but it doesn’t matter when none of the people in the picture can even remember him. _Nanase Haruka_. He wonders if he can still even call himself that anymore. _Nanase Haruka._  He’s been told that it’s a beautiful name. _Nanase Haruka._ To him, it doesn’t sound like anything.

He picks up a photograph of his parents holding him up as a baby. He’s still visible in this one, but he looks faded, not of full opacity. Like a ghost in trick photography.

“They have other pictures of me, where they’re staying.” Haruka says. “Wouldn’t they see me? And remember?” There's the slightest sprig of hope in his voice, an ascending lightness that he's reluctant to let out.

The cat shakes his head. "The universe has a funny way of altering things. See, in this photo of you as a baby, they might see themselves holding something else. A potted plant. A completely different child. Their memories might say, _'ah yes, the neighbor's kid. I remember holding him.'_ We try not to leave any blank spaces."

"So what I'm seeing...?"

"Only those who remember you will truly see you in photographs." The cat's eyes, yellow and sharp, loom up at Haruka. "And even then, it's not much. You look like a ghoul."

Haruka takes a handful of photographs in his hand and adds the Polaroids he had taken with Makoto before. 

"Why...is this even happening?" Haruka asks. "Why me?"

"I thought you were done questioning the matter of your disappearance." The cat suddenly looks riled up, fur standing up like he's on the verge of being terribly offended, but Haruka shakes his head to disarm him.

"I'm not fighting it." Haruka answers him simply. "I just want to know _why_." 

"Haven't I told you before?" The cat sighs, exasperated. "It's all very unclear. The gods are fickle, fickle beings. I'm sure you'll find out on the other side."

Haruka drops his photos back into the box, failing to catch his breath for a moment.

"We have origin stories, though." The cat stretches out, pawing at a few of the photos himself. "The _star thieves._ Once they took the stars away from the other side, people started leaving in droves, _yadda yadda_." The cat continues to hum, like this is all a pleasant little jingle to him. "And because of this imbalance of the dimensions, the gods started plucking the people back. _Pluck pluck pluck._ "

Haruka can tell that this is the cat's warped way of trying to make him feel better, but he takes no comfort in any of it.

"Legend is that they're still looking for the thieves." The cat continues on. "But it's all just a bunch of hogwash. _Fairy tales._ " 

Haruka nods a bit along with him. He can't help but agree.

"There's no special meaning in things, I think. We're just tiny specks in the universe."

Haruka looks down at the photographs again without picking them up, at captured smiles and pleasant candids, hands held, proud parents, and a lovely little grandmother. _Tiny specks in the universe,_ easily blown away by the force of cosmic winds. Fated to forget.

But in that same instance, he sees the gas lamp, Makoto holding his small, scared hand, the ivy crawling up a decrepit shop. Warm, yellow light. 

"Yeah." Haruka shakes the thought of _folklore_ off immediately. "I guess you're right."

Silence percolates through the room like fog, caught in Haruka's throat.

"So, Tachibana's gone to the hospital, then?"

 _Hospital._ Haruka hates the sound of that, because he's just going for a check-up. _That's all._ Hospitals sound final to him, a clinical way of saying, _'you're in huge trouble.'_ And as much as Haruka feels the urge to spit out the words, _'you're in huge trouble,'_ because that's what it is in the long run of things, he refrains himself from doing it. He's already queasy enough as it is.

"He'll be fine." Haruka reassures himself more than anything. 

The cat opens his mouth to say something else, but the doorbell rings and jolts them out of their talk. Haruka closes the lid on the photo box and slips it against the barren wall, going to answer the call.

 

* * *

 

He comes at 12:51 in the afternoon.

Makoto kisses Haruka at the door and the mint in his breath is apparent, an instant sign of concealed blood. He's wearing the new shirt, sleeves predictably rolled up and his collar finely pressed. But one thing bothers Haruka more than anything in this, despite that he fact he wants to want to spend time with _his boy in the bed_ —Makoto should be in school and not here, at Haruka's doorstep.

"School." Haruka mutters simply, separating from their kiss. He is instantly tempted to let Makoto in when he really takes a good look at him in the red plaid shirt—it fits him somehow, accentuates his frame and makes him seem even more grown up than usual.

"I called in sick." Makoto kisses Haruka again on the cheek. "I wanted to see you." 

"No." Haruka pinches him lightly on the cheek. _"School._ You still have classes to pass." 

Makoto frowns just a little bit, obviously pained, because he knows Haruka is right. He tries on a grin, relaxed as it can possibly be, before realizing that it can't be done. 

"I know." Makoto droops a bit. “I know.” he repeats, like he really is trying to convince himself.

And to this, Haruka wants to say, _‘I can’t be the world to you,’_ because it’s clear Makoto’s not budging. Eyes shifting, saying, _I know, but I want to stay._ Haruka sees his chest roll forward just slightly, like he’s bubbling to say a million words, all pent up, but with a sudden lurch forward it’s clear he’s just trying not to cough up again. Under the late winter sun, Makoto looks as bright as ever, and Haruka thinks he might be able to deceive someone who hasn’t known him for nearly twenty years now, but he’s _pale_ , hunched over. Trying his hardest not to look gaunt.

Haruka sighs, giving up, pulling Makoto inside and shutting the door. Makoto leans over him against the wall and practically dry heaves against his shoulder.

“What did the doctor say?” Haruka asks. 

“Clean.” Makoto tells him. “All fine.”

“I don't believe that.”

"Just stress."

_"I don't believe that."_

"Those are the answers they gave me, though."

Haruka has other questions, certainly of the non-mystical sort when it comes to Makoto.

“Makoto.” Haruka calls out.

“Yes, Haru?”

“What did you tell your family, when you came to Tokyo?”

“ _Haru—_ ”

“Because you skipped then, too.” Haruka thinks back to all the times he’s thought of ditching class, only to have Makoto pull him out of his extended soak, or roll him out of bed. Makoto stays perched on Haruka’s shoulder, chronic cough still ambushing him at random intervals, blood soaking through the white cloth of Haruka’s t-shirt.

“What did you tell them?” Haruka urges, squeezing red plaid cloth in his fingers until his knuckles start to ache.

Makoto doesn't say anything. 

"Makoto." There's that _please_ in his voice, slightly cracked, whispered. Haruka hates using it. It feels like an unwanted weapon.

"I...told them it was university related." Makoto answers him slowly. "I got the cat to forge some documents for me."

"You lied to your family." _Your mom. Your dad. Ren. Ran._ Haruka thinks of the little lies that have twisted and tied together through this whole ordeal—the casual _I'm fine's_ over a lack of dinner conversation, the times he's lied to stay here for the night, the feigned little smiles masking blood on the roof of his mouth. Haruka doesn't want Makoto to lie, _not at all_ , not one single bit. Because the more Makoto does it, Haruka knows that it will all culminate into something he'll never be able to take back. Little lies can make estrangements, create distance, and ruin everything like a fine point pin pricked at the pressure point. 

Makoto has to stop ruining himself.

"You never lie to them." Haruka shakes his head. "Lying to them kills you."

" _Haru—"_ More coughing, wheezing and strained.

"You have a life after this." Haruka tells him. "After me."

Makoto shakes his head, shoulders rising and lowering rapidly, like he's keeping himself from crying. Hands clutch at Haruka's upper arms, trembling hard, weight increasingly brought against him, leaning, _leaning,_ until Haruka has to support the both of them up. It gets to the point where Haruka finds himself sliding down the wall, both of their legs crumbling under them. Makoto's entire body goes limp, soundless.

"Ma...koto..." Haruka presses his hand against the back of his neck and shakes him lightly. " _Makoto._ "

"Makoto!"

Against the wall, Haruka accidentally knocks his head back and freezes, mouthing _no_ over and over again, eyes burning, chained heaviness being yanked right up his throat. Incoherence rumbles along his head— _breathe, hospital, moving, call, alive, help, help, Makoto, help—_

"Help." Haruka can barely choke out. "Help!"

The cat comes running into the room, yelling something Haruka can't bother to listen to, just as Makoto begins to come around, barely but certainly breathing.

"Makoto." Haruka hugs him close, shaking his head. " _Makoto."_

"Ha...ru?" Makoto's hands climb back Haruka's, grip loose, still disoriented. " _Haru_." 

"Nanase...all that blood..." The cat approaches gingerly. "He's..."

Makoto just goes back to shaking his head, settling in the nape of Haruka's neck, tired, shaking, and mouthing the same name over and over. _Haru, Haru, Haru,_ like each syllable is trying to climb to higher altitudes. Reaching without finding, losing breath over what will amount to nothing.

_"Haru."_

_"Haru."_

_"Haru."_

 

* * *

 

 

_Ah...Haru! I'm feeling a lot better today, so I figured that I'd leave you one of these messages again. I was just thinking and, well..._

_What do you think I should wish on, since stars seem out of the question?_  

_Is there just any point in wishing for anything, even?_

_Look at me getting gloomy again...well, I just thought about this because I realized that I wouldn't get to celebrate your birthday this year. Would it be weird to get you a cake tonight, so you don't miss out?_

_Hm, I guess that is kinda strange._

_What would you wish for, Haru?_

 

* * *

 

 ** resolution eighteen: ** **hide away your mementos and find a place for your keepsakes.**  
 **(thirty-seven days to go)**  
 **(thirty-five days to go)  
** **(thirty-three days to go)**

 

Sometimes Haruka wonders if he's stealing the light from Makoto's eyes. 

"It was just one bad day." Makoto says, unwrapping his lunch boxes and handing one to Haruka, making a tiny prayer with the clap of his hands before eating. Haruka's not very hungry, and he hasn't been since the beginning of things, so he just takes the lunchbox into his hands and peers down at it listlessly—there's roasted salmon perched on top of white rice, an odd choice for Makoto to prepare considering what he usually eats.

"And today hasn't been so bad to me at all." He continues to say, offering a small smile at Haruka.

Haruka just looks to the sky and picks at his lunch with a single chopstick, remembering the cat's words after sending Makoto home the other day. He had cursed the gods again, claiming broken promises, but the cat did not care to agree. 

_'Oh, but don't you see? Tachibana Makoto is destroying himself. Isn't that obvious?'_

Makoto looks a lot better today, Haruka will have to admit, but he'd rather keep his guard up about things. This is why he's found himself at a school that no longer remembers him, name redacted on school records, his desk oddly avoided space. He’s already felt like a ghost for most of the morning, looming about on Makoto's back, making things denser than they have to be, so he’s taken to walking in the hallways and sitting by the pool while Makoto actually has class. He’d rather not have Makoto look over at his desk every five seconds, distracting him more than he needs to.

 _‘He’s doing everything that he can to not forget you.’_ The cat’s voice looms.

"Have you coughed today?" Haruka asks, shaking off the thought of ghosts and flicking off some salmon skin and digging into the meat of it, chewing some and really reinforcing how much he'd prefer the sublime ways of mackerel.

Makoto nods. "Just a bit in the morning, when we were getting ready for school." Haruka doesn't remember seeing any red on his sheets this morning, so it's nice that Makoto has avoided any fitful sleep, but he'd like one day where Makoto hasn't hacked any blood at all.

"Mm."

"Oh, by the way." Makoto begins.

Haruka looks over at him, putting his lunchbox down on the ground.

"I saw the gift bags under your desk."

"Yeah." Haruka nods. "I haven't been at school for a while, so..."

Makoto's face rises in the most momentary dismay, like he's just remembered something awful, before letting it fall into darkness. 

Haruka continues, "They're for Nagisa and Rei." 

Makoto drops his lunchbox next, letting the rice spill onto the concrete. 

"Haru." His voice grows raspy and strained. Quiet, as if to say, _'I have some bad, bad news for you.'_ And Haruka doesn't even have to guess hard, not at all, _not in the slightest bit_ , about what it could be. He just lets an empty gaze loom up at the sky, home of the heavens, and takes in one sharp breath before slumping. His heart beats in a way that unsettles his entire system, in fact he can practically feel it in his fingertips like an aftershock, but he knows it will pass soon. Haruka hates to admit that he's getting used to it. _Disappearing_.

Haruka focuses on mitigating the thump of his chest, _relaxing it,_ saying, _there's no use getting worked up anymore,_ before letting Makoto wrap his arm around him and bringing him into a hug from the side. 

"I'm sorry, Haru." Makoto whispers.

"I should've known anyway."

Makoto kisses him softly against his temple, lips warm and soft against the slight cold, and keeps them there, as if this alone can melt off any of the ache. And it doesn't, not completely at least, but it's the type of thing that helps him get out of bed in the morning. Having Makoto here, still kissing his name with arms looped in memory, helps Haruka more than most things these days.

"Tell me about the gifts." Makoto suggests.

So Haruka does. Foregoing the rest of lunch, Haruka talks about his last mementos. Haruka's flagged down all of Nagisa's favorites in the cookbook, leaving post-its for tips on making things just a little bit sweeter. Rei's prism reflects the best on sunniest days, making gorgeous, _beautiful_ light. The medal-shaped pendant for Rin says, without a word, _‘I know you’ll go far. I know you’ll win.’_ Haruka talks about the mess of paper stars he’s left in all of their bags, hand-folded and scattered, because he never wants them to go through what he’s gone through. Because even though he doubts that any of them will ever disappear, experience the phenomenon known as personal rapture, he’d like to make sure that the stars never fade out for them either way.

Makoto just smiles fondly at Haruka, eyes bright and soft, light still intact.

“I’ll make sure they get them.” Makoto says to him, just as the clock strikes and lunch ends.

“Will you?” 

“Yes, and if they ask who it’s from, you know what I think I’ll have to say?” 

“What?”

“It’s a surprise from someone special. From someone you should never forget in a million, million years.”

 

* * *

 

_Part of me feels like this town is saying goodbye to you already, Haru, even if you do have thirty-five days left. I've been seeing a lot of the color blue, and I can only think of you when I see it._

_You know how I once texted you about seeing a bluebird? Well, today, while you were probably wandering around at the pool, I saw a whole flock of them fly by the window! It's like they're here to say hi to you. Maybe they're jealous._

_Bah! How can that boy's eyes get bluer than us? We're the walking definition of blue! We demand a refund!_

_Oh...looks like I'm getting silly again._  

_I've been doing that a lot. I should really stop myself._

_But anyway, there have also been these little blue flowers sprouting out of the dirt in random patches. Everyone's been commenting on them in class, too. All of them are like, 'they're the prettiest thing I've ever seen! Amazing!'_

_I don't think any of that will compare to your kind of blue, though. Count that as another thing I really like about you._

_Also count that as another thing I'll really, really miss._

 

* * *

 

On top of the hill where the fireworks burst in summer and the gentle breeze blows best, Makoto hands Haruka a gold-painted padlock and squeezes it shut in the palm of his hand.

“A lock?” Haruka asks. It’s dusk by now, both of them weary from another day’s worth of _worthless_ , time-wasting school, and Haruka would just like to go home and spend their time there. Cooking, having sex, playing with the cat, looking through pictures—anything on the inside. Being outside has left him feeling a little more hollow lately, because he feels more like empty air than anything else. 

“You’ve heard of the love locks, right?” Makoto asks. “The ones they have in TV dramas sometimes? I wanted to bring you to Enoshima, because I know they have a bunch there, and it’s usually the place to go, but...well…”

“You need to stay in school.” Haruka reiterates. “No more trips.”

Makoto concedes a tilt of the head. “Well, _yeah,_ that too, but I was just thinking that this was a little more intimate.” Eyes sink as he looks out at the sea at sunset. _‘More us,’_ telepathy says.

“You know what they say about love locks.” Makoto continues, still looking out at the watery expanse.

Haruka shakes his head. “No,” still holding it in his hands.

“Well, you write two people’s names on the metal.” Makoto explains, taking out a permanent marker from his pocket. “And then, you clip it somewhere and throw away the key. Right into the water.” 

“Why?” Haruka takes the marker and begins to write Makoto’s name in his usual handwriting, neat and pristine. Despite trembling hands, he’ll do his best to write it as well as he can. Makoto deserves at least that much.

But when he gives Makoto the lock to put down Haruka’s name, he doesn’t right away. He stares down, marker tip touching the copper, without writing anything. Eyes concentrated, it takes him a good thirty seconds to remember, to _remember how to write it, to remember his name at all,_ before etching it out with shaky fingers. He drops the marker to the ground, letting it roll away from the both of them down the concrete. A hush falls over them, with nothing but the sound of the water below and the hollow wind.

“It’s okay.” Haruka tells him. “It’s fine.”

Makoto shakes his head. “It’s not, Haru.”

“You still know my name.” Haruka tries to smile for him, even if it’s just a little bit’s worth. “That’s fine. Its—”

“It’s taking me longer to remember it every time.” Makoto interrupts.

Haruka freezes right in place, taking the lock, slightly warmed from Makoto’s touch, back into his hands. The mass of it feels heavier than just a couple of minutes before, like he’s not meant to hold it at all. 

“Sometimes, when I wake up next to you, I see your face and it’s like...I’m seeing it for the first time. And it’s the most _beautiful_ thing, _every time,_ if you’ll allow me to say that,” Makoto says, kind of smiling, catching his breath, “but then it gets horrifying. Because my mind says, _you should know who this is_. He’s important to you. And then it goes from there. You come back, bits and pieces of you…but I have a feeling I’m finding less and less everyday, no matter how much I reach for you.” 

A twist of dense air chokes Haruka up right at the word, _reaching. Finding._ In the strangest sense, Haruka understands perfectly what the cat means. ‘ _Tachibana Makoto is destroying himself.’_ The gods have nothing to do with this. Because although everyone else has reached their limits in remembering, following the natural course and letting Haruka slip away downstream, Makoto keeps reaching, fighting against the current, floating while drowning, in remembering Haruka. 

“Do you know what these love locks symbolize, Haru?” Makoto asks, to break the silence. The sun’s light grows weaker, hazy orange shifting into pervading violet.

“Tell me.” Haruka responds, as Makoto crouches down to connect the lock to the fence rung with a click. He brushes his thumb against both of their names, nodding to reassure himself. He’s been doing that a lot lately, in-between every washed dish, during every walk up and down the stairs. Right after their most intimate moments, cuddled up in the sheets. 

It’s the smallest nod that says, _‘today is a day I still remember you.’_  

“Something unbreakable.” Makoto finally says, stepping into his own shadow and facing toe-to-toe with Haruka. "Once you throw the key into the water, it's forever."

Makoto uncovers that key from his pocket and takes Haruka's hand in his, smaller wrist resting in the softness of his palm.

"Haru." Makoto's voice breaks again, but not because he's about to cry. In his mind, the name _Nanase Haruka_ has already been half-erased, scratchy and obscured. The way he says it, _Haru,_ like the sound of old film footage, reflects that. 

Putting the key in the palm of Haruka's hand, Makoto squeezes shut once more.

"Sometimes superstitions can get really silly, you know? It's hard to believe them all." Makoto sighs. "But I'd like to count a blessing somewhere."

Haruka stares down at the key. It's the glimmering sort, brand new and unscratched. Still shining.

"I...still want to believe it." Makoto admits. "Being _unbreakable._ Because I might not remember your name one day, but I'll still remember the feelings. Everything I've ever felt about you." 

Haruka wants to believe it, too. No matter what he might become in the other world, memories retained or not, human senses kept or carried away, Haruka would like to wake up under this different sky and still feel the same. So, with arm raised behind him, he throws it forward and watches the key take flight, glinting like a bright, unbothered star before dipping, never to be seen again, under the water.

Strangely already out of breath for the dizziness bubbling in his system, Haruka lowers his arm and finds his hand filled with Makoto's enveloping touch.

"I'd like that, too." Haruka tells him, rest of the sun still fated to set.

 

 

**goodbye.  
(thirty days to go)**

 

"Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

"I don't go everyday. I'll meet Makoto after class later." Haruka tells the cat, emptying his photo box and sorting through the ones of him and Makoto, placing them in a separate pile. He spreads the stars he's collected from their bed in Tokyo into the bottom of the box, letting a couple flitter onto the cat's new sitting room table.

"More gifts?" The cat asks, sticking one on his nose before letting it fall away.

Haruka nods and places a stack of photos into the corner of the box. He lets the most recent Polaroids rest on top. Haruka takes one more look at the one of Makoto on the train, smiling fondly at Haruka, before flipping it over and sighing a bit.

"Ah, I see. A memory box."

Haruka nods again, placing his drawn picture of Makoto into the box next. 

"Can you do me a favor?" Haruka asks.

The cat frowns a bit. "Haven't I done you enough favors?" 

"Just one more." 

"Always _just one more._ "

"I've never said that to you before."

"No, but it feels like it. These airline tickets are putting a dent into my bank account. I'm just incredibly bitter." 

"This favor isn't that big."

Haruka puts a small glass bottle filled with paper stars into the box next and stoppers it with a cork lid, writing _M_ in black, permanent marker.

"Ah, I see."

"Hm?"

"You want me to give him this box when you're gone."

Haruka stops what he's doing for a moment and places a lid on the box, thinking that he'll finish filling it with gifts later. He tucks it underneath the table carefully and keeps his gaze on the floor while the cat takes to picking on the stickers on the table.

"If you could." Haruka says, plainly. 

The cat nods. "It shouldn't be a problem. It just seems... _futile_. It's not like he's going to know what any of this is. He'll just see pictures of himself and get confused." 

"I know."

"Then why bother?" 

Haruka doesn't want to admit to _being sentimental_. His face goes a little red thinking about it and the cat can probably pick up on it right away. A laugh escapes from the feline and he just lies down on the floor and rolls around a bit, claws still picking at a sticker. Haruka watches as he rips it up by accident, sending the two small pieces fluttering back to the ground.

"I'll do it for you." The cat says. "But as a member of the _cosmic forces_ , I reckon that this is the last favor you'll get from us. You've been so spoiled." There is real acrimony in that last spoken word.

Haruka just nods in understanding.

“Oh, also, you should really check your phone from time to time!” The cat says, going into the other room, voice still wrangled in annoyance. “I wanted to order pizza the other day and you were out...I was gonna offer you half the pie.” 

“Okay.” Haruka says listlessly. Mind still swimming with mementos and old photographs, Haruka can’t even remember the last time he’s checked his phone. With a shrug, he thinks he might as well on his way to pick up Makoto from school. He thinks there probably aren’t many messages for him to begin with, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Haruka checks each of Makoto’s messages one by one. Some of them send his stomach dancing in full force, making his steps heavy like they’re filled with wet, churning sand, while some of the others make him burst up in lightness. He blushes when Makoto mentions _high-fiving the starfish_ , laughs when he says, _‘boo!’_ to chase away the nightmares, and freezes at every mention of _love_ and _I’ll miss you_. The walk to school usually takes the two of them no time at all, but alone, with nothing but Makoto’s voice in his hands, Haruka thinks this trip has taken him double the time, a footstep for each of his best friend’s contemplative and stuttering words.

He’s about to shut off his phone when he thinks he reaches the end, when he realizes he’s missed another message.

 ** _You have one new voicemail._** The sound of the automated operator is foreboding enough—in fact, her voice sounds even deeper than usual, like a toy’s recording on a dying battery.

 

_Ah, Haru…?_

Haruka freezes when he hears Makoto’s voice, unsteady and full of breaths he can’t catch. Like he’s running. The echo of footsteps loom in the background, _patter patter_ like he’s running down a flight of stairs.

_I just had the most terrible feeling. Like...if I didn’t see you, right now, I would forget you._

_I was sitting at my desk when it happened...it took me a full ten minutes to remember who you were, out of no where! This has never happened to me before. It usually only happens in the mornings._

_Haru...I’m scared._

_I don’t want to forget you._  

_I don’t...Haru…_

_Haru—_

 

The voice cuts out from there, and in that last moment Haruka hears a staggered breath and the scrambling of something falling. There’s a girl’s scream. Cries for help.

Haruka finds that he’s already running. Running, running, _running_ , to the sound of the half-forgotten name. Eyes shut when Haruka imagines Makoto in the worst possible state, and his mind conjures up that false memory in defense. 

A boy under the stars greets him warmly, two sparklers in hand at the other side of a double-lined road.

 _“I was hoping we could see each other one last time.”_ He tells Haruka.

 

* * *

 

“He just fainted on the stairs, sensei.”

“He was saying a name into the phone that I couldn’t catch…” Another girl says. “ _Haku? Hana?_ ”

“Haru.” Haruka says, still out of breath, still holding his hand on the ground. _He was saying Haru._

 Tears catch in Haruka’s eyes before they actually get to fall. He shakes his head over and over, telling himself not to cry. _This is not the time to cry_.

_'Oh, but don't you see? Tachibana Makoto is destroying himself. Isn't that obvious?'_

“The ambulance should be here soon, Rei-chan. I’ve called Rin, too.” Haruka can hear Nagisa say by the window. Haruka just puts a hand on Makoto’s cheek, shaking his head over and over. There’s blood dribbling from the side of his mouth. A red mark rests on his forehead from his fall. He’s breathing, but it sounds awfully pained, wheezing, lips mouthing something the others can’t make out. But every time he tries to say it, _Haru,_ Haruka can feel his heart lurch upward and come crashing down all in one terrible instance. _Haru,_ in a small and tired voice, and only Haruka can hear it. 

_‘He’s doing everything that he can to not forget you.’_

“Please…” Haruka leans down over Makoto, hears the slowed beating in his chest, _slower and slower each time_ , and conjures up a thought he never imagined he’d be wishing for.

_‘Please let him forget me. Please.’_

 

* * *

 

Haruka still hates the hospital more than a lot of things.

Rei, Nagisa, and Rin are sitting in their waiting room chairs, oddly quiet and predictably fidgety. Makoto had resumed consciousness not too long ago and approved for visitors once his family got their time in first. Briefly, Haruka thinks about joining them in their visit, because it might feel like they’re a group again, even for the smallest fraction of a second, but he decides against it and tells himself to wait for the others to finish. 

“So, what exactly happened?” Rin asks, still a bit choked up, picking at the medal-shaped pendant in his hands. 

Rei shakes his head. “Well, Makoto-senpai’s been... _off_ lately. He’s been coughing up _blood_ of all things, and he’s been tripping a lot more.”

“I’ve never seen him so... _gloomy,_ either.” Nagisa chimes in. 

Haruka stares down at the ground and cups his mouth with his hands, telling himself to calm down. _Calm down. You already knew all of this. Makoto said he had it under control. He said he was okay._

“Blood?” Rin asks. “That sounds serious. You didn’t tell him to go to the doctor for that?” He raises his voice, visibly shaken by now.

“We asked him about it...he said every time he went, his tests were clear.” Nagisa says, as calmly as he can. “It’s something no one can pinpoint.”

“Maybe it’s not as serious—”

“ _Of course_ it is, though!” Rin practically shouts and Haruka almost jumps right out of his skin right then and there.

Rei sighs and takes his glasses off for a moment to wipe at tired eyes. 

“Makoto-senpai kept mentioning someone a lot. Maybe it had to do with them.”

Nagisa shakes his head at that mention. “I just can’t remember the name, though.”

Silence gathers for the phantom in the room. Haruka slides down the wall and covers his ears. He really thinks he might vomit.

"Well, whoever it is," Rin says, clearing his throat in the fear of crying, "I'll make sure to beat their ass into the ground if they give Makoto any more trouble."

 

* * *

   
Haruka's voice is small, but sure, when he tells Makoto.

"You have to forget me."

"It was just a little fall. I'm fine—"

"But then what about next time?" Haruka barks at him. It's way past visiting hours by now, and Makoto must be tired, but there's no way Haruka can keep any of this hanging any more. Makoto can't go on like this. _He can't._ Not if he's already in the hospital with thirty days to go. Haruka doesn't want to be burying him by the last.

"You have to forget me." Haruka repeats, even if it kills him a million times over to say.

Makoto just scrunches up the sheets in his bed and shakes his head like a petulant child, coughing up as he does it. Red stains his hands, but he just wipes it off on his hospital gown and stays quiet. 

"Makoto." That _please_ emerges in Haruka's voice again, weaker than its ever been, on the verge of falling apart altogether. Haruka grasps at Makoto's hands, getting residual blood on his skin, welcoming it's deceiving warmth.

"I refuse." Makoto tells Haruka, eyes locked. "I won't forget you. I will _never, ever_ forget you."

Makoto's green eyes sink as he tells Haruka this, sure yet scared and everything in between. The light hasn't gone out of them, no they're still as radiant as the first time Haruka's ever laid eyes on them, and this fact just scares him more than anything. Makoto still wants to fight.

He wants to keep fighting for Haruka.

"You have a life after me—"

"Please. Haru, _please_ stop saying that." Makoto cries. " _Please._ "

"Just a little, day by day." Haruka urges on, head pounding in pervading guilt. "Just pick something to forget. Just one thing." _Make it easier for yourself. Please._

Makoto shakes his head, wipes his hands completely clean, and cups Haruka's face delicately. The softest smile emerges across his lips, exhausted, saddened. Finding Haruka's cheek, he lifts himself up to kiss him, like he's done a thousand times before, like it's the only thing he has to worry about. On Makoto's forehead, a taped bandage covers half of his skin, hidden expertly behind his bangs. Troubles concealed to the rest of the world.

"Not one bit of you. Not willingly, at least." Makoto tells him. "That's all I know. That's all I'm prepared for." 

Haruka doesn't take one bit of comfort in Makoto's words. Everything he wants to say gets caught in his throat, burning and boiling, churning to shout and _scream_ until Makoto actually listens. He forgets how stubborn Makoto can actually be. He forgets that _telepathy_ won't mean they'll agree on everything.

So he doesn't say anything else for now. Haruka just leans over from the bedside and kisses him tenderly, choking back a mix of desperate, frustrated, built-up profanities, _'why won't you listen to me,'_ and a sea of tears.

And quietly, in the palm of Haruka's hand, Makoto traces a five-line star with his finger, eyes never budging from Haruka for a second. In determined wordlessness, he tells Haruka this again: _I will kiss you for every star I see._  

_So let's forget this business of forgetting._

Thus, Makoto's next kiss is a long one, full of sighs and gulping resistance. With every reach and retracing of stars on Haruka's palm and the back of his trembling hand, Makoto is saying, _I refuse to forget you._

And even though Haruka does kiss him back at every turn, he can only think one thing.

_'But you have to.'_

_'For the sake of everything, you have to.'_

 

* * *

 

The cat fiddles with the chained lock on the fence as Haruka leans out and faces the sea, whole body shaking in terrible bouts of nervousness. It must be past one in the morning now, and Haruka can still taste blood in his mouth from kissing Makoto so long at the hospital, but the heaviness of his steps have still guided him here, to the gods. On the cliff side, on the top of the hill where Haruka made one promise, he thinks about the new one he's about to make. 

"Are you sure about this, Nanase?" 

Haruka nods. "I don't know what else to do."

"Well, I don't care that you're _bartering_." The cat says. "You're still asking us of another favor."

"Just one more." 

The cat looks over his shoulder and sighs. " _Just one more,_ he always says." Eyes meeting, bemused yellow on terrified blue, the cat just cracks a smile, sympathetic for once, and calls out to the gods with a whistle. Haruka closes his eyes, lets the smell of saltwater coat his lungs and throat, and relaxes. _It's the only way. It's the only way. It's the only way._

"Hello, this is the cat speaking. Please show yourselves." The cat claps with his paws, bell ringing around his collar like an alarm waking someone for the day.

The crashing of waves against the weathered rock soothes the tumbling in Haruka's stomach. He thinks, strangely, that these waves have travelled a long way, reverberating across the ocean until finding a place to land and collide. Haruka thinks, that after all this falling and thrashing and resisting, that it's time for him to find his shore too. It's time for him to die out against the ageless sediments.

"They're here." The cat whispers, hair raised and back arched in frenzy. The messengers have a habit of falling into quietness when the gods arrive, and this is no exception. Even the sound of swishing waves under Haruka's feet, the fearful water, ceases to swish in fear of overzealousness.

The wind wanders through, full on gale settling into a wavering breeze, whittling and wheezing. The gods are here to say, _we are here for one more plea. Make your case and be at rest._

"Go on." The cat prods Haruka forward. "They're here to listen now. They're awfully calm tonight."

"Of course." _Because I'm giving them what they want._  Haruka peers up once more before clasping his hands together loosely. Even in prayer he thinks that this isn't the way hands are supposed to be held; together, by his own means, his palms feel cold and solitary. 

 _'Hi.'_  

Strangely, as he makes his pleas, his one last attempt at bargaining with the chaotic, cosmic forces, he ponders about how much he'll miss the touch of Makoto's hands.

 _'Are you listening, up there?'_ Haruka thinks anyway, eyes shut closed again.

_'I have one last bargain to make.'_

And with only the cat and the stagnated waves as his witness, Haruka makes his wish out loud in the smallest but surest voice he can muster.

Haruka can only hope they'll deliver on his promise. He hopes he hasn't asked for one too many favors.

 

* * *

 

 

_I'm sorry if I'm being unreasonable. I know what the stakes are, remembering you so selfishly, keeping all these memories when I know what they're doing to me. But you know what? I know I can fight through this. Honestly, I feel better already. With twenty-nine days to go, I've never felt better. They're letting me out of the hospital in the morning. I have this under control. We can keep being together._

_I mean, what's a little blood when I've got my best friend?_

_So...let's just keep going, Haru. Let's go on another trip. Let's go back to Tokyo and find our special places, let's actually go to Enoshima, say our prayers, and clip a love lock there...let's go back to the pool and we can teach you to swim all over again...let's make a ton of gifts for friends...let's light sparklers and sit at the bottom of empty pools! Let's just...let's just keep going!_  

_Ah...I think I just feel really optimistic. Despite everything, I feel better than I have for a while, now. Again, I think it's you putting the light in me, Haru. Did you make a wish or something?_

_Tell me your secrets, so we can keep feeling this way!_

_Huh? Oh, sorry..._

_Anyway, the nurse is telling me to get to sleep now...I guess I made too much noise on the phone. Look at me, getting scolded._

_Anyway. My point is that my wants have stayed the same. And they'll remain that way, for as long as we have left._

_Let's find our good days._

_Let's keep being together._

 

* * *

 

**farewell.  
(twenty-five days to go)**

 

On the day marking the halfway point, after five days of continuous love making, dinner dates, walks on the blustery beach, and _just plain being together_ , Haruka stops tasting blood in Makoto's kisses and feels lighter than ever. Waking up next to Makoto on the twenty-fifth day with an aching chest and empty air pervading through him, Haruka sighs, nuzzles closer to Makoto, and shakes his head in the nape of his neck to shake off the leftover dreams still roaring through his system.

"Good morning, Haru." Makoto laughs a bit, presumably tickled by the wild strands of Haruka's hair. He grabs a hold of Haruka's back and lays him against the sheets, enveloping him in a bunch of morning kisses, sweet and just a bit sloppy, tracing mindlessly on his bare chest.

"M-mm..." Haruka accepts him wholeheartedly, breathing him in and letting himself relax. 

"Did you sleep well? You didn't wake up from any nightmares last night."

Haruka nods and brings a thumb to the corner of Makoto's lips, dragging it downwards to his chin. No sign of blood anywhere today. 

"Did you...?"

"I didn't cough up this morning." Makoto smiles, obviously proud of himself. "It's gotten a lot less worse these past couple of days, too. Isn't that great?"

Nodding in tiny motions, Haruka looms his gaze up to smile at him, finding that usual light in his eyes without a single glint missing. Haruka lets the touch of his hand fall away from Makoto's cheek as he pulls him down for another kiss, each touch cherished and carefully imprinted into his mind like muscle memory, each brush and breath remembered for later. Separating from the comforting touch of his lips, keeping his face close to Makoto's, Haruka closes his eyes, tries to ignore the throbbing headache pulsing through him, and tells himself to shake it off. That this is the start of a new day.

 _Twenty-five days. Makoto is all right. Everything else can fall into place._  

"Mm, it's warmer today." Makoto sits up, stretching out the kinks in his back. "I can feel it."

Dizzy, Haruka finds it in himself to sit up, too. "Yeah," he replies, even if he hasn't noticed anything about the weather. Propping himself up against the wall, Haruka finds just how numb his legs feel under him, how he can't feel anything in the tips of his fingers, but he just tells himself he needs to wake up a little more.

"Maybe spring's here early." Makoto sighs. "It'd be nice to put away the winter coats once and for all." 

"M-hm." Haruka responds drowsily, rubbing his eyes and seeing imagined stars.

"It makes me not want to go to school today." Makoto laughs. "Can we go into town today instead? There's a cafe I want to show you."

"You skipped yesterday." Haruka shakes his head. "So no."

"Aw, Haru." Makoto whines. "Please?" 

"Compromise." 

"Okay. Let's make one of those then."

"Let's have breakfast outside." Haruka suggests, stumbling out of bed, almost unable to find his footing at all. "In the back. Then you can go to school."

Makoto just frowns a little bit, keeping that goofy smile of his on his face, but he nods along and crawls out of bed, too. He slips on his pants while Haruka finds his jammers, picking up Makoto's red plaid shirt and throwing it on, fastening each button with the listless maneuvering of fingers.

"You wait out there and say hi to the cat, if he's around today. He actually likes you, I think." Haruka suggests. "I'll get the tea going." _Tea._ Maybe that's all Haruka needs to feel better this morning, warm and hearty to stop him from feeling so lightheaded. 

Makoto eyes Haruka suspiciously for stealing his clothes before yanking his undershirt on and giving up. He makes it to the door, kissing Haruka along the way, momentarily lifting him from haziness, even though the fatigue just grabs back at him a second later. 

"Good morning, Haru." Makoto says, hands brushing, held for a moment and then let go in the next instance. He follows after him. Pulse quickens with every step, head heated and fevered.

_Twenty-five days._

_Makoto is all right._

_Everything else can fall into place._

Haruka makes it into the kitchen with staggered breath. He fills the kettle at the sink with trembling hands, water swishing in the canister like an emerging storm. Lighting the fire on the stove, Haruka watches the condensation emerge and die on the metal of the teapot, letting the heat of the stove warm him and help him settle down.

_Twenty-five days._

_Makoto is all right._

_Everything else can fall into place._

The teapot begins to whistle after a while, screeching, and calling to be taken off the stovetop. Haruka lets his ears get consumed by the sound of it, headache bursting into something more encompassing, sending him into muteness and deafness and a strange sense of lifting numbness. Haruka finds himself pouring the scalding water into two cups, letting tea leaves scatter like darkened stars across the surface, unfolding like supernovas in finale.

Onto the tray they go. Each step for Haruka through the house is a paradox, lifted in lightness, sinking in unbearable gravity.

"Haru."

Across the room, with doors slid open, Makoto sits on the back deck, steeped in sunlight. Smiling. Blood free. Haruka can't help but breathe a sigh of relief despite his turmoil.

"Makoto." 

This morning, Makoto doesn't look bright for someone else's sake. He seems entirely at ease, shoulders lowered, letting himself take in the morning like he has the entire universe ahead of him. Haruka thinks about all the good he's going to do. The life he's going to live. How proud he is for falling in love with someone like Makoto.

 _Twenty-five days._  

_Makoto is all right._

_Everything else can fall into place._

_'Took you long enough.'_ He jokes up to the cosmos.

"Haru?" 

Haruka feels all of the strength leave his legs, joints and bones crumbling beneath him. The tray slips out of his hands when his fingers lose their grip on the edges, spilled tea water mixing with broken clay. Haruka collapses onto the floor, breath escaping him rapidly, eyes suddenly heavy with exhaustion. The sound of Makoto tripping over himself on the way to him, his screams mixed with the crunch of stepped-on porcelain, are already muffled and distant. 

"Haru!" Makoto yells. " _H-Haru!_ What's wrong?"

Haruka feels himself being propped up against the bend of Makoto's arm, his whole body limp and useless. 

"Haru!" 

"Makoto." Haruka calls, deliriously, in a weak and barely-there voice. Smiling nonsensically. Tears allowing themselves to fall. Hand finding Makoto's to hold, for one last time.

"Haru... _Haru_ , are you sick?" Makoto asks, shaking him lightly.

Haruka's eyes find Makoto's, smile fading off as soon as it had come.

" _No._ " Makoto's crying too by this point, voice breaking, holding Haruka's body against his. "Haru...Haru, no..."

"It's okay." Haruka whispers. "It's...okay."

"We had twenty five days. This can't be right, Haru."

"It's okay." 

"But it's not!" Makoto wails. He looks back outside, pounding a free fist onto the ground.

"Explain this!" He shouts next, to the gods that won't answer. Haruka just grasps onto the hem of Makoto's shirt and shakes his head, begging him not to fight this. Haruka is done fighting.

"Haru..." Makoto chokes. "Why..."

"It's okay, Makoto." 

Tremors erupt across the span of Makoto, sobs taking him, limbs quaking. He leans over Haruka and lets himself cry, maddened, completely out of control. 

"Makoto."

" _Haru._ " Makoto shakes his head. _"Please._ Fight this... _please,_ we still have so much to do. _Please._ " 

"I love you, Makoto."

Sunken gaze stays on wild green eyes, smile forming again. Haruka mouths it over and over again, _I love you, I really love you, I'll love you forever,_ and with each utterance Makoto just seems to understand where this is all going.

"I love you." Haruka finds the voice to say again. He feels his grip on Makoto's hand lighten until he's grasping at empty air.

"Haru... _Haru,_ please."

"I love you." Each time Haruka says it, he feels another piece of him torn away. 

"Haru..."

"I love you."

Makoto's sobs stop, like each of Haruka's affirmation is a call to _give up,_ to let go, to let him fall away _once for all_ , but it doesn't stop Makoto from holding him close. 

"I love you too, Haru." he calls out, whispered into his ear. "I love you so much." 

Haruka feels himself drift away with Makoto's repeated calls. Kisses come on his forehead, barely kisses at all, still calming despite the end of the world. Waves find their shore to finally crash into, two boys come burning back into the atmosphere, and a sparkler at half-life burns out altogether.

"I love you, Makoto." Haruka says one more time, but he's not sure Makoto can even hear him anymore. 

“Haru!” Makoto’s cries sound a billion miles away. “ _Haru!_ ”

The voice drifts through the darkness, reaching in echoes but ultimately dissipating into nothing.

 

 _I give you my twenty-five days._  

_So you'll be okay._

_Everything else can fall into place._

 

 

_Goodbye, Makoto._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading another chapter! This one was a doozy and I'm so sorry for the length. Charting out the rest of this, there's still 3 more chapters to go, and hopefully you've all been putting clues together in the process. Everything will be explained q_q
> 
> ANYWAY, I'm tired, so I don't have much to say. 
> 
> Please listen to my friend's amazing Heart's Departure mix, which tugs at the heartstrings like no one's business: http://8tracks.com/makoyann/don-t-let-go


	11. delta cancrids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> __  
> He’s just afraid he’ll never see the light again.  
>  He’s afraid he’s never had enough to begin with.  
> 

**one week and three days later**

 

_"Why us?"_

_"Because there's love when he looks at you."_

_"And me?"_

_"Well, you're just a little bit more obvious about things."_

 

Makoto wakes up with the touch of Haruka's hand in his, with the type of warmth that feels like they're holding a morning sun between their palms. 

" _I love you, Makoto_."

Haruka's voice is tired and small, withered past the point of return. Hands slip away from each other as soon as reality presents itself, and Makoto drifts out of his last memory of him, sighs mixed with the repeated call of his best friend's name. He caps off his misery with one more admission, hard to say but still devoted to the cause, muffled against his pillow until he can barely even breathe.

"I love you too, Haru."

Makoto hugs the empty red plaid shirt in his arms, hands brushing against the buttons Haruka had fastened himself that morning. Makoto thinks about actually wearing it today, _because it was a gift from him after all_ , but he pictures the delicate work of Haruka's fingers against the cloth, how it was one of the last things he ever did, _button up a shirt,_ and chooses not to. It'd be like erasing another part of him, and Makoto thinks he's lost enough already.

He just holds the shirt above his head by the shoulders, letting the sleeves drape over him like the other boy's still reaching for him. Inside the collar where the tag should be are Haruka’s stitched words, predictably neat, sewn with the utmost care.

**Makoto + Haru**

With a kiss against the bunched-up thread, like seeing this is almost a breath of life in itself, Makoto sits up, rubs at blistered eyes, and tells himself that this is a new day. He must welcome it, no matter how reluctant he is to find the light. No matter how much mornings remind him of lifelessness.

Briefly, Makoto stares out towards the curtain-covered window. It's still dark, oddly, judging from the lack of the usual morning light, and he assumes that it's going to rain. Appropriate.

Let the sky cry, too.

"Haru." Makoto breathes into the shirt again, to make up for every lost minute he couldn't remember Haruka's name this morning. It has taken a full half-hour to remember Haruka this time, six minutes longer than the day before.

_"I love you."_

Footsteps putter in the hallway. There's a knock at Makoto's door, dull and carefully done. By the soft sound he knows it's his mother, concerned, wondering why Makoto hasn't come down for breakfast yet. It's been like this every morning for the past week and a half since Haruka disappeared, and Makoto knows his increasing lateness is only driving more suspicion.

"Makoto, dear, I made your favorite for breakfast." His mother says through the door with hesitance.

"Ah, good morning, mom! Come in." Makoto hides the shirt under his covers and sits up a little more, lightly patting his cheeks for a little color. Makoto's mother peeks her head in before coming into the room with full-on smiles, with worry hiding on a wrinkled brow. 

"You're still in bed at this hour?"

Makoto nods. "Yeah...um. Overslept. Sorry."

She just presses a hand to her son's forehead briefly, sighing and shaking her head.

"Well, you don't have a fever. Have you been coughing again?" She asks, lifting her palm away.

Makoto shakes his head. He's not lying this time, since he hasn't actually tasted any blood in this mouth lately. By all accounts, he's been perfectly healthy.

"I'm still..." He doesn't even know what to say.

"Not okay?" Makoto's mother completes the sentence for him with a small tilt of the head. After all of the doctor's visits with nothing to show for it, for all of the exhaled blood and fainting spells, everyone close to Makoto knows there's just no way to put any of this into words.

"Not okay." He admits, swallowing down the urge to cry. Makoto will settle for that, _not okay,_ but he knows his mother is putting things lightly.

"Well, _not okay_ means I worry about you." She says. "You still haven't been eating well, right? You sneak Ren and Ran way too many pieces of ham at dinner these days."

Makoto starts fiddling with his fingers and relinquishes a small smile for his mother's lightness, glancing up before tearing his eyes away altogether.

"Things have been hard." Makoto tells her. 

"How so?"

Makoto wants to say, _'Haru's gone,'_ or _'I miss Haru,'_ but thought of combining these words just chokes him up even more. He'd hate to start crying in front of his mother, even if it takes everything in him not to, so he dares not to get too specific.

"I recently lost a friend."

"Did you guys have a fight?"

"No." Makoto shakes his head. "I just..." He's not even sure about how to continue. It's already hard enough admitting to anyone that he's he lost someone, even if it's someone as innocuous as his mother, the epitome of understanding. A simple silence follows, the comforting kind that only mothers are good at handling, and it soothes the knots in Makoto's stomach for a fleeting moment.

"Kids your age go through a lot, don't they?" she asks quietly.

Rising up to meet her gaze once more, Makoto doesn't realize how scared he's let himself look. Makoto's mother just runs some of her fingers through his hair like he's still a child and sits down, humming up at the ceiling like she's sighing at the stars.

"Yeah." Makoto answers her, trying not to tremble.

"Things are always changing. You leave old places and move into the new. You meet people, and you lose people. I remember being scared, too, when I was about to graduate...but you'll be okay."

"Will I, though?" His voice, though hardly used at all, cracks at the question.

_How can I be okay if Haru's not here anymore?_

"I think so. I know how scared you get of things, but you're strong."

"Then maybe that's it." Makoto nods, even though he knows he's lying this time. He still finds the will to get out of bed, climbing from under the sheets.

"Will you be going to school then?" His mother's voice lifts in hope.

Makoto tells her yes, even if his motions are nothing but slight. Dizziness still pervades. His feet have never felt heavier. He honestly thinks he'd rather lie in bed for the next ten years.

"Yes." He says again anyway, like he's just affirming things for himself.

Without another word, Makoto's mother leaves him in the room alone to start his day, but he sinks to the ground when he realizes how hard that's going to be. His urge to cry has just festered into horrible, heated aching.

Doubling over himself, Makoto thinks about cursing the gods more when he spots a stray star sticker dangling on the very edge of his sheets, metallic gold and glinting. He concludes that it just doesn't shine the same way it did on Haruka.

"Haru." Makoto edges out in shaking breaths. He takes the sticker and lets it stay in the center of his palm, unable to find the heart to crush something so small.

_You leave old places and move into the new._

In that fleeting instance, an image of Haruka flares across Makoto's mind like the tail end of falling comet. He's smiling gently, in the smallest way, like he's done in so many of Makoto's dreams before, with blue eyes reflecting something inexplicably bright.

_You meet people._

Makoto doesn't exactly remember the first time he ever saw Haruka, because it feels like it's been a million years since that day. He thinks of the childish pride he felt in meeting him, hands linking innocently under the same sky, thinking, even as a child, _'I got to meet someone really, really special today.'_

And sometimes, when he's really daydreaming about that time, Makoto likes to imagine that they were counting stars, pointing up and choosing which ones to fall for them. He likes to imagine, because childish pride has swelled past the point of no return, that the stars found something splendid with them as well that day.

Bitter, Makoto clears his head from these sorts of thoughts. The stars clearly don't care. Let them all fall out of the sky, if they wanted to. Let the whole universe collapse.

_You lose people._

And because it seems like Makoto is just fated to have another terrible day, he loops the terrible lightness over and over in his head, finding Haruka in his arms, weightless in the worst possible way. Makoto had embraced him, trying to keep him in this world, until Haruka was nothing but an empty pair of jammers and a vacant red plaid shirt.

"Haru." Makoto calls again, to no one.

_"I love you, Makoto."_

"I love you, too." Makoto says, like he's still not talking to himself.

In that last glimpse of memory, Haruka blinks up, once, _twice_ , dazed at the sight of the boy in front of him.

* * *

 

_Hello! I hope I've reached the right answering machine. Oh...is it not called that? Huh? Oh, it's voicemail for cell phones. Okay! Well, I hope I've reached the voicemail of Tachibana Makoto._

_Well, I hope you still recognize us. I know it's been quite a long while since we've spoken._

_Anyway, just wanna let you know that we're hard at work to help you._

_We just ask of one thing..._

_Please look to us tonight. We'll put on a show!_

_Because honestly...we really hate seeing you so sad._

 

* * *

 

 

**one week and five days later**

 

"Hey, Makoto. _Hellooo_?"

"Huh?"

Rin pokes Makoto with a chopstick from across the table and offers an annoyed sort of grimace, obscenities probably on the tip of his tongue for being so blatantly ignored.

"I _said,_ are you going to Nagisa's stargazing party thing next week? At the park near your house or whatever?" 

Makoto nods without meaning to, picking at his curry on the table with no intention of eating it.

"He says there's been a bunch of weird things going on in this town, and I've been hearing whispers about it around Samezuka, too. Guess Nagisa's capitalizing on it all." Rin shrugs. "Let's catch ghosts! _Woo!_ Ridiculous."

"Weird things?" Makoto asks listlessly.

"The bluebirds? I guess that's a start." Rin raises an eyebrow. "I just saw a local news crew do a report about it. And all the cats, too...and some of the boys did mention seeing more sta—woah, see! Look at this weird shit here!" 

Pointing out the restaurant window, Rin lets the point of his finger follow a small roaming yellow light, flickering through the night sky. Aimlessness possesses its every move, seemingly lost in swooping, lazy motions. Like it knows it's not a sight made for the likes of winter. 

"Fireflies." Makoto mouths when he realizes there are perhaps hundreds of them outside, astounding all of Iwatobi's passersby. An old man stops to say a prayer over their sudden appearance, just as two children have begun chasing after them on the sidewalk, gloved hands held in pursuit.

"What did I tell you about _weird?_ "

"Yeah...I guess it's strange." Looking back to his food, Makoto just lets out a small sigh.

 _Strange._ Makoto knows it's more than a little strange. The word that actually comes to his mind is _extraordinary,_ but he won't let himself be taken by the feeling.

Because even though the _extraordinary_ or _fantastical_ might mean seeing fireflies in the winter, or some other sight with cheery implications, _overly positive connotations_ , Makoto understands that it can also mean starless nights and fading existences.

 _Extraordinary_ can loom.

 _Extraordinary_ can say, in its impossible tone, _'you just can't be with him.'_

 _Extraordinary,_ in the worst sense, can mean forgetting someone he swears he'll always love.

"This is like date material or something." Rin muses. "Sousuke would think it's annoying, though...all these pretty little lights."

Rin lets himself get swept by the sight despite his apparent chagrin, hand perched on chin and fork twirling in the other hand. Makoto cuts up his pork chop, ignoring the continued arrival of the fireflies.

_"I haven't seen stars for a long time."_

Letting his eyes sink and his stomach churn, Makoto puts down his fork and knife and thinks of other instances of illumination, of feigned stars finding their way to the both of them.

String lights.

Paper lanterns. 

Sparklers.

If Haruka were still here, Makoto would take his hand, lead him outside, and watch his eyes light up at the sight of the fireflies.

Hand slipping onto his lap, fingers squeezed into a balled fist, Makoto thinks of how he'd hold Haruka's hand harder once sadness seeped onto his face over the lack of stars. He imagines every kiss he'd lay on Haruka, out of an attempt at comfort and promises kept.

_“I guess I’ll kiss you for every star I see tonight.”_

Makoto can't help but let his breath hitch at the memory and the pact he couldn’t keep. He bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath, staring right down at his food and choking back unwanted tears. 

“Makoto…?” Rin calls out. “Are you crying?”

Shaking his head, Makoto just throws back a sniffle and dabs his eyes with a napkin, refusing to cry in front of anyone like this. He's really not in the business of worrying others.

“You know, if there’s something wrong, go ahead and say it.” Rin tells him.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Makoto fakes a smile, though he puts no effort into it. “Spring’s coming. Allergies.”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Now_ , there’s no way in hell I’ll believe any of that.”

Frazzled, Makoto tries to come up with something to say. “Ah, _well_ —”

“But I’m not going to force you to share. Maybe later.” Rin crosses his arms, picking something off of his sweater. “But can you tell me something else, though?”

He looks curiously up at Makoto, pinching a star sticker in between his fingers and holding it up in apparent disgust.

“Where…?” Makoto starts to ask. There’s no doubting it, because Makoto would know these anywhere—it’s the same kind of star sticker he had placed on Haruka’s skin, and the same he had found the other morning on his sheets. He frowns when he thinks this is some sort of cruel, ridiculous joke, but it can’tbe. It can’t be when none of them know who Haruka is. It can’t be when none of them know how many he’s kissed off his skin.

Rin rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s right. This town is so _weird_. I bet these little kids run around and leave these stickers all over the place. It’s the strangest fad and I hope it dies out soon, because if it doesn’t you guys are going to have to come visit _me_ more often.”

“Wait. _All over the place_?” Makoto asks.

“Yeah, like park benches and windows and...man, they’re just everywhere.” Rin spits out. “It’s been like this all week and I’m sick of it.”

“I...haven’t noticed.”

“Because you’ve been a walking zombie for _god_ knows how long.”

Makoto takes the sticker into his hands and examines it closely. By all accounts, there’s nothing extraordinary about it—minus the fading adhesive, it glints in the same way the others have. Nonetheless, Makoto takes it into his care and sticks it in the space between his fingers for safekeeping. Outside, the fireflies float on to dazzle the winter-washed crowd. A few hover close to the glass and find the footing to perch there, lights blinking on and off, _on and off_ , like they’re trying to get Makoto’s attention.

This is something Rin notices too, but he just cringes and goes back to eating his chicken.

“Gross.”

“Gross?” Makoto asks.

“Even when you’re the definition of gloom, the light still comes to you.” Rin sighs.

“That’s...nice of you to say.”

Rin shrugs. He’s obviously embarrassed but he forges through it anyway. “Might as well try _something_ when you’re this down in the dumps. Everyone’s worried about you, you know.”

“Ah, I guess so, yeah.” Makoto picks up a saltshaker mindlessly, finding another sticker pasted on it. They really are everywhere. “Sorry." 

“You’ll be all right, I think.”

“Thanks, Rin.” He lets sincerity lace through his voice, but it still doesn’t sit right. Rin takes it anyway with a bit of a nod and decides not to say anything else. 

Makoto lets the silence loom so Rin can actually go back to eating his dinner, choosing to stare out the window while he waits for him. The fireflies land and jump off the window in synchronized motions, dancing in frantic little flutters like ballerinas leaping off the vertical stage. Over and over Makoto watches them swoop downward before rising up again in flickering illumination, feeling the space in his chest jump at the sight of them.

_Even when you’re the definition of gloom, the light still comes to you._

Makoto places a hand over his heart and realizes his nervousness. He thinks of Haruka again, lifeless under morning sun.

Maybe nervous isn’t the word for it.

 _No,_ it definitely isn’t.

He’s just afraid he’ll never see the light again.

He’s afraid he’s never had enough to begin with.

 

 

**one week and five days later (continued)**

 

 _"Will I get through to you, somehow?"_  

 

With only the sky as his witness, Makoto tells himself that is the only place where he'll let himself cry openly. He comes everyday at about an hour before bedtime, with stories ready and eyes already sore. As usual, no one’s here today either—minus the recent hoard of fireflies, but Makoto thinks there’s not much he can do about that—so he lets himself look ahead and talk, alone, to Haruka.

"Yeah, so...today..." Makoto chokes out, wiping his face against his jacket sleeve, "Nagisa made something out of the cookbook you gave him." He actually laughs at that, despite the tears.

"So he brought a whole cake into the club room. It scared the new members plenty."

The smile crumbles off his face when he pictures Haruka swiping a bit of chocolate frosting off the top of the cake, like he did for Makoto’s last birthday. Makoto remembers blowing all his candles out, left to right in procession, little lights going out one by one, and how he had stared up at Haruka before extinguishing the last. Behind the candlelight, Haruka had smiled at him, sincere and sweet in a kind of _‘happy birthday,’_ murmured without words.

“Ah.” Makoto clears his throat, letting the tears drip down his cheek and showing a miserable little grin. “Sorry. Where was I? Um...well. Hold on.”

"Sorry." He apologizes again. "I'm sorry."

Leaning over the railing, Makoto lets himself sink into his own folded arms and tries to take a deep breath to calm himself.

"Rin treated me to dinner today, and that was nice." Makoto continues. "He said he's moving to Australia right after graduation. I thought, well, that's far, but...not as far as..." He stops himself and shakes his head, gulping down a sob unsuccessfully.

"I'm sorry, Haru. I know I shouldn't be crying this much."

Peeking up at the sea and the night before him, he slides a hand across the top of the fence and pretends that Haruka's there to hold it, grip tightening around the metal when he remembers, yet again, of another promise he couldn't keep.

_"Do you know what love locks symbolize, Haru?"_

_"Tell me."_ Haruka had urged at the time.

The sea still crashes in the same way it did last time, bold against the rock.

_"Something unbreakable."_

Makoto dares to look down at his feet, finding the love lock they had forged about a month ago, and crouches down to examine the names. _Makoto and Haru._

Haruka's name is still intact, but Makoto feels his stomach churn when he sees that it's more faded than yesterday. He takes his thumb off the name to prevent making any further damage. Let _Haru_ remain for another day.

"Something unbreakable." He repeats to himself in a whisper, clicking his tongue. Makoto pictures the small hope in his best friend's face at the time, and how quickly his own had diminished in these last two weeks.

"Look, darling."

Makoto perks up, because usually no one's here at this time of night to bother him. He presumes it's a couple here to watch the stars. Rubbing at his eyes and gathering composure, Makoto gets up from the ground and goes back to staring at the sea, letting the last of his tears out and getting ready to leave. He'd rather not face them or anyone for the rest of the evening.

"The stars are certainly shining bright for you tonight, huh?"

Makoto almost wants to laugh at the notion, but he thinks that the world does not deserve to face his bitterness. The whimsical laughter continues behind him regardless of how he feels anyway.

"So don't cry, Makoto." 

"Yeah, Nanase won't like that."

Nearing jumping out of his skin over the call of his name, _Haruka's name,_ Makoto turns around and finds that no one has actually come to join him on the ledge. He looks to the stairs and the other end of the hilltop, hearing the scattering of distant laughter, rising like helium up above him, before realizing how utterly alone he's been the entire time.

Settling down away from his frenzy, trying not to get too riled up over the call of a forgotten boy, Makoto pinches himself and stares back out at sea, hardly glancing up at anything like stars. He barely even notices when the first one falls, and his eyes fall dead to the meteor shower that follows. The lights fall like cosmic rain, a million opportunities for a million different wishes, but Makoto just pretends he can't see any of it all.

 

* * *

 

 _Tachibana Makoto? Hello? Tachibana Ma-ko-to! I can’t believe you’re letting us go to voicemail AGAIN!_  

 _And listen, we know you’re sad, but why don’t you answer your phone? Don’t you want to see us, after all the time we’ve put into following you? Our promises? Because we certainly want to see you after all this time…_  

_Anyway, please give us a ring. You must’ve gotten our messengers’ greetings by now! Our little notes! We have some business to attend to, don’t we? So put a little light back into your eyes and stand up straight!_

_After all, don’t you want to see him again?_

 

* * *

 

**two weeks later**

 

 _"So...this means you'll help me?"_  

_"Why, yes! Isn't that clear?"_

_"But I still don't understand. You are so grand. We are nothing but specks to the stars."_  

_"We've watched you grow into each other over the years. The truth is, we have grown rather attached."_

 

After it takes Makoto an hour to remember Haruka this morning, fumbling and foggy and still sure he’s still forgotten something about him, he puts on his uniform, leaves his house, and races up to the former Nanase residence to make amends.

"Okay." Makoto swallows. "You can do this."

Makoto grazes his hands along the fence posts on his way to the front door, noticing the sheer amount of _sticker vandalism_ on the property. Feeling one stick to his thumb, he flicks it off and watches it float onto the dirt with an easy grace. He looks under his shoe and finds at least a dozen more. 

 _Meow._ The jingle of a familiar bell. Makoto turns around and comes face to face with the cat, who he hasn't seen since the day of Haruka's disappearance. 

"You." Makoto points, letting the memory of the cosmic messenger fill his head again. Every recollection is filled with dread and slight annoyance. There's a bit of gratefulness in there as well, even if it only exists in small amounts. 

_Meow?_

"You don't have to pretend." Makoto shakes his head with a bit of a frown. "I still know who you are."

_Meow._

"Please."

A grumble emerges and the cat drops the act.

"Then let's go inside to talk, because you shouldn't remember me at all." The cat relinquishes, glaring at Makoto with his tail waved and frantically wagging. A sigh escapes between whiskers and his strut is especially indignant.

"Ah, so you still...?" Makoto freezes with one foot in the house and the other still on the doorstep.

Makoto doesn't finish his question because he's too busy realizing that he's actually _here_ again, after two weeks, in the house where he and Haruka had grown up and found love. On the same spot on the floor in the sitting room, Makoto had watched Haruka leave, time and time again. To Tokyo and to some other unreachable space. Makoto doesn't even want to think about that certain day, but it still crops up like a three-second migraine, debilitating and leaving white blots in his vision.

The cat eyes Makoto strangely. "Yes, I still live in this house, if that's what you're asking."

"Ah."

"And I presume that you still remember Nanase Haruka, since you're here." 

"Y-yes." Makoto nods. "I just...wanted to see his room one more time." 

"Still mourning, huh?"

"It's only been two weeks." Makoto refutes, voice already shaky. It feels like he has dust caught in the back of his throat. 

"He's not...deceased." The cat makes himself comfortable on the bottom of the stairs, seemingly tired from a long night out on the streets. He yawns, still huffy and suspicious in his gaze towards Makoto.

"I know." Makoto tells himself. "But it feels like it."

Sighing, the cat licks at his skin and spits up a star sticker, cursing under his breath. Makoto notices how ragged the cat really looks in fur and general demeanor, like he's seen recent war.

"Ten years ago, when I first got the Nanase Haruka case, candidate two-three-five-six-one, I figured...what an _interesting_ case. I'll have my fun with this and move on, like I do with any sort of oddity. Because it should lose its novelty after a while, you know?"

Makoto listens as the cat rises up from his seat on the staircase. With a small nod, he beckons Makoto to follow him to the second floor, straight to the closed door of Haruka's room. Star stickers form a small and simple constellation on the wood panel on the door.

"But you two continue to surprise me." The cat stares up and traces the stars with his paw in the air, forming a sideways Y, two prongs facing in the five o'clock direction.

"Do you know what this one forms, in terms of constellations?"

"No...I can't say I do." Makoto swallows. 

"It's the dimmest in the zodiacal classification _—_ hard to find in the sky, because only two of the actual stars in this system shine bright when you see it from earth. And yet...here it is. Making itself known."

Makoto comes closer and traces his finger over the formation. Again, they're the same kind of stickers he's seen for the past couple of weeks, small and metallic, barely the size of a dilated pupil. And briefly, because his thoughts often drift to _him,_ Makoto wonders if he's accidentally ever made this certain constellation on Haruka's skin and—

"It's called the Cancer." The cat explains next.

"Like... _astrology_?" Makoto asks.

"Precisely." The cat's bell jingles incessantly in a confirming nod. "And tell me. What is Nanase Haruka's birthday?"

Makoto feels lightheaded when he finds that he can't remember it right away, because it's always been ingrained in his head like a law of nature, _Haru's special day,_ but it comes to him when he recalls what his voicemail password is. 0-6-3-0. It helps when certain things like that are anchors for remembering, and Makoto wonders if he should make more of them. 

"June thirtieth." Makoto's eyes go wide at the implication. _Haru was a Cancer._ He will admit that he's never paid much attention to things like astrology, and that he's only taken it as a joke whenever Nagisa read from his sister's magazines about _compatibility_ and _fortune,_ but a small part of him takes pride in the fact that they were always considered _highly compatible. Connected. Beloved by the cosmos._  

"Interesting." The cat muses. "Very, very interesting."

Makoto lifts his hand off the door. "Why did you stick all these stars around town?" He fails to mask the disdain in his voice, but surely this has been one cruel joke played on behalf of the cosmos. 

This is when the cat looks especially weary, turning his head slowly to face Makoto, eyes watery and wide. 

"That's the thing." The cat says. "This is not my work. This is no _god's_ work. It is something I can barely wrap my head around, no matter how hard I try to find it."

Makoto keeps his hand on the doorknob, unsure of whether or not to really go inside. He has the sudden suspicion, an inexplicable feeling, that if he goes a step further, he will certainly plunge further into unknown, further away from his terminal normality. That he won't be able to come back from this. 

"I'm afraid that the disappearance of Nanase Haruka has sparked something new. Strange."

"Strange?" Makoto asks, barely a whisper.

The cat nods. "Fireflies in the winter. The proliferation of star stickers. Unpredictable meteor showers. You remembering, when everyone else has forgotten." The cat nudges at the door, beckoning for it to be opened. "And something else that I must show you. This is perhaps the oddest occurrence I've come across so far." 

"What is it?"

"A _fake._ An attempt at connecting you to the other world." The cat says. "I have been talking about it with the gods for days."

"I don't understand."

"It's something I should show you. Let's go inside."

Makoto takes a deep breath, still unsure with hands shaking.

"You're going to have to go in eventually."

Makoto turns the knob and opens the door, greeted by the loneliness of an empty bedroom.

No, _lonely_ is not the word for it. The moment Makoto lays a gaze on the space and its new infestation of gold star stickers, stuck over and over in various places in that _Cancer_ formation, glittering in clusters on the window or climbing up the walls, Makoto understands that this is not just a matter of _children's vandalism._  

On the bed rests a gift box wrapped in soothing sort of green, partly yellowish is hue. From the nearly tied blue bow on top, Makoto guesses that this is from Haruka. 

"He told me to give that to you when I had the chance." The cat says. Makoto feels the strength leave his legs immediately when he actually takes the box into his hands, mind blanking except for one primal function: _cherish._ Breaths escape in a struggle when he thinks about all the work Haruka put into this, fingers working in casual perfection, devotion nestled in a concentrated gaze.

"This is..."

"A parting gift." The cat nods. "But that isn't what I want to show you." The feline makes a headfirst dive into the pillows and retrieves a handful of red envelopes by the mouthful, letting them fall next to Makoto's lap.

"Can I...open this first?" Makoto asks.

"Please do that some other time. This is crucial."

"I'll just—"

"Tachibana."

With one last look of longing, Makoto sets the box down behind him with the utmost care before taking the envelopes into his hands. Each of them have been addressed to different people from all over the world in a thick, black ink—all written in forebodingly perfect calligraphy.

"These are the notifications for my newest rapture candidates." The cat explains. "They always come in the same writing, with the same type of ink. It has been like this for thousands of years. The gods make these themselves."

Makoto doesn't understand the point of this.

"But yesterday, I received the most disturbing letter."

The cat slides one envelope more towards Makoto, face down, seal already ripped open.

"What's this?"

"Take a look."

Makoto takes the envelope into his hands and flips it over. Written in gold glittering ink, like he's handling the written fragment of a supernova itself, is the wild etch of his very own name.

_Tachibana Makoto._

Immediately, Makoto yanks the notecard out of the envelope and finds the same gold ink on cream-colored stationery paper. Wild globs of shining ink are still trying to dry on the edges of the notecard, staining the pads of Makoto's trembling fingers. Eyes scan the message over and over, until it settles and blooms into absolute panic. 

 

 ** _If you are ever to lose the one you love, you will disappear._**  

**_This has been a warning for your personal rapture._ **

 

"Someone is forging a disappearance for you and interfering with heaven's routine." The cat whispers. "They mean to bring you back to Nanase Haruka."

Makoto closes his eyes and presses the letter to his forehead, half-crushing it in his clammy, closed hands. His head pounds and his heart aches in hope. Makoto says a small chant, mouthing repeated beggings of _please let this be true, please let this be true, please let this be true._

_Please let me disappear, too._

Right now, because he does not need anything like a _slow fade._ Because he has certainly lost what one would coin, _the love of his life._

 _Please let me see Haru._  

But when Makoto opens his eyes, sight still weary and worn over the sight of a regular day's morning, cat still sitting next to him, he lets the letter drop from his hands. It hits the ground of a world still spinning, onward and unbothered without his favorite blue-eyed boy.

"Someone is destroying the order of things." The cat continues. "they are wreaking havoc in this town."

And just like on cue, the sunlight dissipates from the window, plunging the room into a view of the night. Fireflies rise to the rooftops and sparks dart across the shadowed sky.

"Impossible." the cat murmurs. Outside, neighbors start chattering on about _this odd sort of eclipse_.

But Makoto only finds the strangest comfort away from the morning's view. He can live with the night. 

Closing his eyes again, he makes another prayer to disappear. 

"Don't trust them, Tachibana Makoto." 

 _Please let me see Haru_.

"Don't trust what the stars have to offer you."

_Please let me reach him._

 

* * *

 

_  
Did we go a little too far this morning, Tachibana Makoto?_

_You know, the gods are really angry with us up above, so we're starting to think we've really crossed the line with these sudden eclipses, the falsified records...but I guess there's no turning back, right? Shine bright and burn out, we always say...well, that might be a little depressing, when you think about it._

_Because we don't want you to burn out. We want you to regain that light of yours._

_We want you to find that strength. That warmth._

_Oh—I guess that's easier said than done._

_But...well..._

 

_Don't you know?_

_He's waiting for you._

_He looks up every night, looking for us._

_Looking for you._

 

* * *

 

 

**The Star Thieves**

**(Oral tradition as retold by _the dog_ , Tokyo’s premier cosmic messenger and resident _other dimension_ historian)**

 

In the other world, sometimes referred to as _purgatory,_ or _a lost dimension_ , but never to be confused with the likes of heaven, stars no longer exist for anyone.

This is the tale of how that came to be.

Long ago, when people were still born into this place of perpetual night, there lived two boys who lived next to each other by the lake. One was a gardener’s child, perpetually on the side of gloom or indifference, who was always in charge of watering the plants in his parents’ flower shop. He was rather loved for his curiously blue eyes, which matched the petals of what the townspeople affectionately called, the _“bluebird blossoms”;_ his family was famous for growing them, oddly using starlight to grow them instead of the fabled sun, and people often came to buy them by the droves. The blue-eyed boy, however, never took much interest in things like flowers. 

The other boy was the lamp maker’s son, who lived right next door to the flower shop. He never complained about having to dust the countless lampshades in his mother’s gallery, or polishing all the spare bulbs in the shop. He was endlessly fascinated with finding illumination for a world so accustomed to the dark, and for that, everyone knew he’d be a great successor to his mother’s work. This light little boy, however, never thought about things like this; he just enjoyed talking to customers in the shop and helping them find the right kind of light.

Alas, after daily chores and shop hours, the two often met to count stars by the lakeside. Sometimes they built fires, sometimes they danced, and sometimes they swam in the lake, but in the end, no matter what they did, they ended up together under the cosmos. They did this for years and years and years, until they came of age, and from there they were expected to take on their parents’ professions. This often meant grueling years of far-away schooling and surely, their inevitable separation.

So the blue-eyed child, sadder than expected, thought he should leave his best friend with the perfect parting gift. Climbing the highest tree he could find, he reached a star right from the sky and took it down with his bare hands, thinking that nothing else could beat this kind of light. The lamp maker’s son could use it for his first project, and maybe, _just maybe_ , it’d be a way for him to always remember the times they had, until the next time they would meet again. 

But before he could reach the lamp maker’s son, the blue-eyed boy was caught by one of the guards on the estate where he stood. Infuriated, the owner of the property condemned the blue-eyed boy for taking one of his stars. A trial found the blue-eyed boy guilty of theft and banished him from the other world, doomed to wander in the dimension beyond the night.

Devastated, the lamp maker’s son begged and begged the magistrates to let him go, but he was futile in getting his efforts recognized; because no matter how popular the “bluebird blossoms” were, the boy was of age and had broken the law. 

On the day of the blue-eyed boy’s departure, he could not find his best friend anywhere in town and left without saying goodbye. Every one of his steps was filled with despair.

On his way up the main road out of the town he had always known, always dark and poorly-lit, the forest slowly began to illuminate itself with an endless line of laid-down stars, surprising the blue-eyed boy greatly. Wondering who could show him such kindness, the blue-eyed boy ran and ran and _ran_ , finally reaching the outskirts of the town after what felt like years of running. 

At the edge of world, just across the double lined street stretched before them, was the lamp maker’s son. He carried two sparklers, already burning at half-life, lit with the fuel of more discarded stars. Around them, the snow began to fall, light but silent with gloom.

“Did you light the path for me?” The blue-eyed boy asked of his best friend, as he took one of the sparklers into his hand, finding him on the other side of the road.

“I did.” He answered, showing the same sort of smile he always showed to the blue-eyed boy.

“Why?” The blue-eyed boy asked in turn.

“I was hoping we could see each other one last time, and I was hoping these stars would lead you to me.” He explained.

“Because I’m leaving tonight?”

“Because we both are.”

The lamp maker’s son must have stolen hundreds upon _hundreds_ of stars to make this illuminated path, and it would have been strange not to banish him, too. Of course this was the case.

At this, the blue-eyed boy wondered something.

He asked him, with the smallest hope, “Why can’t you just come with me, too?”

But with soft and lowered eyes, it seemed that the lamp maker’s son expected this question. 

“Because they mean to separate you and I. You will walk one way on the road, and I shall walk the other. If we try to follow each other, the heavens will strike one of us down for sure. I don't want this at all.”

The blue-eyed boy, in all of his misery, began to weep for the both of them. It was a quiet sort of cry, with no sound or sniffle.

“I don’t understand this.” He choked out. “What is a couple hundred stars to a universe with so many?”

The lamp maker’s son still didn’t look surprised at the inquiry. “The heavens are jealous of the time we’ve spent under them, and what they’ll do for us once we leave.” 

The blue-eyed boy, perplexed, shook his head over and over at the answer. “I still don’t understand.” 

“I will get the stars to follow me out of this place. Because if I am ever to find you again, I might need every star in the universe to help me.” the lamp maker’s son told him. “I refuse to leave anything up to chance.”

The blue-eyed boy was breathless. “Every single star?”

“Every single star.” His best friend smiled.

The two of them remained this way, hands stuck together, until the sparklers died out for good and all was left was the silence of falling snow. As the lane of stars behind the blue-eyed boy began to die out, he realized it was almost time to go.

“I promise I will find you.” The lamp maker’s son said. “I will always, _always_ find you.”

And although his words were hardly a comfort, the blue-eyed boy believed him. Letting their sparklers drop onto the ground, the two of them shared one first and last kiss, under the stars that would soon be theirs.

“And I will come back.” He told him, separating from the kiss. “I will always come back to you.” 

With hands still held, the two boys set off on their own, letting themselves cry at the separation. As the blue-eyed boy began to walk alone down the road, he watched as the cosmos dimmed above him, and it was in that instance that he knew. 

He didn’t even have to look back at all, watching the last star fade out as evidence. His best friend had kept his promise.

And for the rest of the other world, this phantom dimension, it was end of the stars as they knew it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading another chapter! This one is about half the size of the last two (exhales all around) and I wanted this one to focus on a bit of mourning/pining from Makoto also while establishing that weird things are happening...I hope the last part wasn't too much of a scare! Everything will come together in the future :^) 
> 
> Anyway, here's what the Cancer constellation looks like: [(Link)](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/8a/CancerCC_cropped.jpg/256px-CancerCC_cropped.jpg)
> 
> Also find me on:  
> companions.tumblr.com  
> @asplendidmoon - twitter
> 
> Also, for this chapter, I listened to "Garden of Everything" by Maaya Sakamoto and Steve Conte, as well as the usual "Dearly Beloved" and basically all of James Vincent McMorrow's Post Tropical album. All of them are great songs!
> 
> Until next time!


	12. a boy's longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _"To me, you are worth more than the universe."_  
> 

The first time little boy blue notices any sort of star, he is meeting another child by the shore.

“Do you ever look up at the sky?” Green eyes squint past the shadowy clouds.

“Not really.”

It is night, like always, and the weather is warm enough to wade their feet in the water, but he cannot help but think that this is the first time the waves don’t capture his attention at all. Little boy blue still finds no point at looking up the constant darkness, but his new friend’s face is like seeing the mythical sun, warm and happy and guided by soft lantern light. He finds it in himself to tear his gaze away, drawing five-lined stars in the dirt with his finger. 

The son of suns, all gleaming and rosy-cheeked, just smiles at little boy blue and points up at the brightest light he can find. Little boy blue rubs at his wearied eyes and tries to see what he sees. To no avail, only finding darkness, he just frowns a bit and splashes at the water, the place where he usually places his focus anyway.

“I don’t see anything.” Little boy blue says in a childish huff.

“Really?” The son of suns frowns up at the sky, almost as if to scold it.

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“But it does. Everyone should get to see stars.” The son of suns gets up from the ground and brushes his knees off, cupping his hands to the sides of his mouth. He takes in a deep breath, squeaky voice gasping, before calling up to the sky.

“Hey!” he shouts, with all he can muster, lowering his arms in balled little fists. “Stop playing tricks! Let him see you, too!”

Little boy blue watches his new friend call out with all he has, voice getting hoarse over the amount of yelling he’s doing. Although his shouts are oddly nowhere at the point of _mean,_ his face is going red, definitely going past any usual pinkness. This is not something little boy blue understands, because stars cannot possibly be worth all this effort. He wonders why the son of suns would even try this hard for a near stranger.

The son of sun’s voice cracks from his attempts and little boy blue cannot help but feel terrible at the twinge. He knows the stars won’t obey anyone, no matter how many times a person calls for them. So in an attempt to get him to stop, little boy blue takes his hand and tugs on it in the smallest motions, surprising both himself and the other child.

“You’re going to lose your voice, calling out like that.” Little boy blue blinks up, hands still held. “The stars don’t care about anyone.”

The other boy doesn’t let go and reclaims his seat on the dirt. Eyes loom up to the sky, watery irises reflecting indirect starlight. Little boy blue cannot help but think that this light might be enough for him.

“But why should you stay blind to stars, when the rest of us get to have them?”

Tiny hands stay overlapped, fingers slowly interlacing. Little boy blue scans the darkness of the sky, the eerie crescent moon, the wispy clouds. He cannot help but think how lonely it looks up there.

“It’s not like I have anyone to watch them with, anyway.” Little boy blue mumbles. 

The son of suns frowns at that sentiment, like the very statement itself is an injustice. He just slides himself closer to the other boy and nods up at the sky.

“Then it’s settled!” 

Little boy blue doesn’t catch his drift. “What is?”

“You have a new friend to watch stars with!” The son of suns exclaims in his own soft way, slightly shy but still finding the will to push forward. “Well, I mean...only if you’d like to be friends.”

Reluctant elation spreads through the other boy’s face, almost overwhelming to the point where he has to look away. 

“I...already… _um_.” Little boy blue wants to say, ‘ _I already consider you a friend.’_

_‘You are my first friend.’_

But he cannot bring himself to say such sentimental things. The thought of that scares him to no end, because he thinks, one day, he will leave. Just as his parents have, four days a week to pick their _bluebird blossoms_ , just as the moon’s light in waning and waxing. Little boy blue tells himself that this companionship might be fine for now, and that he will take the smallest solace in what he can get, but he just tells himself that all things fade away. _Nothing is forever,_ is what his head tells him, even though the heart runs from such logic.

“We can be friends.” Little boy blues tells him instead, throat closing from inexplicable achiness.

The son of suns just smiles again at the answer, life restored all at once. Neither one of them move their hands as the other boy chats about his mother’s work with artisan lamps, and how much he enjoys polishing the light bulbs in his family’s shop. Little boy blue just listens, nodding with eyes wide and bright, wondering how such a boy could come into his life. How he was fated to meet him today, and this has been a special occurrence, no matter what his steely, five-year old mind says otherwise.

And just as the son of suns explains his life’s biggest goal, his ambition of _‘I want to bring light to everybody!’_ little boy blue thinks that this day cannot get any more extraordinary. But it does, because _special_ has a tendency to turn into _spectacular._

A small light, fizzing like a sparkler, comes floating down to the both of them, yellow in hue and shining, silently playful. The first star ever. 

“Look! Wow!” The son of suns gets up from the dirt, helping little boy blue up as well. The latter, slightly scared for once, lets the other boy lead him up to see this miraculous spark.

“See, this star’s come down to see us! Isn’t that amazing?”

Taking one more peek at the sky, scared for his life but excited at the start of things, little boy blue finds a new universe of the unseen, a dazzling littering of the cosmos. 

“It is.” Little boy blue tells his friend, squeezing tighter on his hand. 

_‘It really, really is.’_

 

* * *

 

**two weeks and three days later**

 

The next letter comes from trembling hands, with an off-centered heart sticker sealing the envelope and corners dulled from repeated withdrawals. 

"I'm sorry, but what is this?"

With outstretched arms, offering the type of note Makoto will never be able to take, the girl makes her case clear again.

"I really believe I've fallen in love with you, Tachibana-senpai." Her voice shakes like she's got something caught in her throat, but there's ambition in her eyes. Makoto will have to admit that he's seen this before, especially with the likes of spring approaching, a time for newness and rebirth and all things bold, but he can't help but just squirm in his shoes about it. He knows this face anywhere, this sort of unexpected determination, from practicing it so many times in the mirror himself. It's an expression that says, ' _just tell him,'_ slowly and surely. _When the time is right._

 _"Just tell him,"_ Makoto's middle school self had once muttered, in the throes of initial realization. _Because you're in love with your best friend. You probably have been all along._  

 _"Just tell him,"_ He had urged of himself in the first year of high school, inspired by the hustle and bustle of a new crowd, uncontrollable hormones, and fleeting teenage unions. _Because this silly little crush still hasn't passed._

It really has to be _"Just tell him,"_ because no matter what excuses Makoto gives himself about _turning over a new leaf_ or entering some new, unprecedented age, the feelings will always, always remain against the test of time.

It's just that Makoto has one, unavoidable problem.

 _He just can't remember who they're for._  

"I'm sorry, but I really can't accept this." Makoto tells the girl, waving his hands shyly, half-distracted with head still trapped in an effort to remember. It doesn't help that more fragments come back just as the girl begins to explain herself in muddled tones—Makoto sees dark, short hair, drops of water reflecting sunlight, held hands, sparklers and the touch of a kiss under the falling snow. _A kiss for every star._

"I figured I should tell you before you leave for Tokyo," the girl says.

 _"I'm disappearing, Makoto."_ The voice he hears is like hearing hymns, sacred yet foreboding. A song for the dearly departed.

"What?"

The boy's face finally emerges at the end of the vision of the firework, looking over his shoulder with the utmost caution. He's all blue eyes and heavy, trembling resolve. A pink dusk looms behind him, sickly in haze with the low hanging moon, and it is here Makoto suddenly remembers— _not his name_ , but that this boy is of the _limited_ sort. Special, but with few remaining days. That he's fading away because he has had the misfortune of _falling in love_ , and that he lives in a world where stars don't exist and the gods pull and _pull_ at him like he's made of withered petals. Makoto remembers every line of pain etched on the other boy's face and every stuttered word in confession. He recalls his own dread and helplessness masked under the urge to _stay calm._  

"So...would you please go on a date with me?"

Makoto shakes his head in a gesture not solely meant for the girl. In disbelief over the next vision, Makoto sees himself wander through the streets of Tokyo, to planetariums and aquariums, touching the top of the city in a Ferris wheel kiss. That boy is there with him every step of the way, and Makoto knows he's recalling something _real_ from all his recovered senses, all of them vivid with the honest touch of hands, the sound of twinkling classical music, the sight of gold on skin, kissed _piece by piece_ — 

 _"Just tell him."_ The command echoes against Makoto again, but this time he has a face despite the lack of name. Makoto remembers kissing this boy over and over, making love to him in low lamplight, disbelieving over someone like _him,_ despite all of their years together. His throat clogs when he thinks that they won't have this time anymore, that they only have X amount of days to be like this, so in their most intimate moments he says it, _he finally says it: I love you, I love you—_

"Haru." Makoto accidentally blurts out, top of his head pinching in the worst kind of headache. He staggers back ever so slightly for a moment, obviously concerning the girl waiting for an answer. He repeats the name just as the girl asks if he's alright, recalling the usual protocol for things _recently remembered._

" _Who_?"

"Ah, sorry, I'm so sorry, but please give me a moment." He edges out as that last glimpse of Haruka presents itself. Makoto thinks he should be used to this last memory already, maybe write himself a memo to at least _brace_ himself for it, but he knows it'll never, ever hurt any less.

"Tachibana-senpai?"

 _"I love you, Makoto."_ This is the final piece of Makoto's daily recollection, never acknowledged as the _signal,_ but always recognized nonetheless. No further memories of Haruka ever follow afterwards, but maybe Makoto's too lightheaded to ever notice them.

"Sorry, I just..."

Makoto checks his watch. As the second hand hits twelve, he closes his eyes and makes a mental note of the time: two hours and fifty-four minutes. It has taken Makoto exactly two hours and fifty-four minutes to remember Haruka this morning, a full twenty-six minutes longer than the day before. While he's busy adding up the numbers in his head, recalculating because he _surely_ couldn't have taken this long today, the girl asks a question he can't quite catch. 

"Huh?" Makoto asks, honestly feeling guilty for ignoring her, but these recollections have taken longer than anything outside the hazy realm of waking up, and he has to make sure he's on top of every second of it. 

"I said, who's _Haru_?"

That familiar twitch of electricity crawls up the back of Makoto's neck whenever someone says his name. _Haru,_ like he still exists. And with that Makoto's not even sure what to say to her _about_ Haruka, because his mind is still brimming with everything about him. Should he start with _best friend_? Or talk about his swimming? Or how Haruka stole Makoto's heart, maybe a million years ago to the day, and disappeared with it?

_'Ah, that's right. I really am in love with him.'_

This particular person. 

Nanase Haruka.

His blue eyed boy.

That feeling, _something unbreakable_ , burns at him like a meteor cutting across an empty sky. Makoto thinks about the arduous journey it will make today, crashing into the void by the next morning, only for another to make the same journey, slowly, but surely. 

 _Slowly, but surely,_ Makoto will remember this certain truth, this law of nature: 

_'I will always, always love him.'_

Raising his head up, he surprises the girl with that look of ambition. In some instances, it might mean _tell him_ , but other times it means _tell the world._

"He's someone I will continue to cherish." Makoto says without any trace of stammer. "No matter what happens next. No matter how many people have forgotten him."

Makoto bows his head a little and apologizes yet again, half to the girl for rejecting her, and half to Haruka for taking so long to remember him this morning.

And just as the girl rescinds her offer for her respective love letter, the sky grows dark above them in another _out-of-place_ eclipse. They both look above, eyes empty from disappointment and their own respective longings, at the darting, celestial lights. Students slide open windows to watch the mid-morning star shower.

"It's happening again." the girl remarks. 

Makoto just nods along, eyes glazed over at the spectacular. He's seen all of the coverage because his family has been endlessly fascinated by Iwatobi's stars, so none of it fazes him in the slightest. They're everywhere, _and they've become everything_ , embedded in twenty-four hour news cycles and popping out in supermarket tabloids, and Makoto tells himself he's not impressed by any of it. He tries not to think of _other letters_ and the formation of sticker constellations. 

_'You can't trust them.'_

_'Don't look to them.'_

_'They can't answer you.'_

"Well, I better get going." The girl says. "Thanks for hearing me out."

Makoto looks back to her, genuinely apologetic, but by time he does open his mouth for a _sorry_ , she's at the door and he's the only one left in the courtyard, system mixed with guilt and confusion and all things weighty. Haruka is at the forefront of this gravity. 

_"I haven't seen stars for a long time."_

Makoto remembers the cat's words, uttered in warning during the first ever _cosmic eclipse._

_"Don't trust what the stars have to offer you."_

Back to the sky, Makoto's eyes focus on the tail end of the frenzied light, fading upward in a check mark shaped streak. All of the following meteorites begin to follow the same formation soon after, synchronized to some silent song Makoto doesn't know.

"Can you...really hear me?" Makoto asks with all the trepidation in the world.

The strangest occurrence happens when Makoto moves his gaze to the left. The stars make sudden turns to catch Makoto's attention, following his level of sight and bursting at the seams like overdue fireworks. He tries bobbing his head to the right next, only to have the lights chase after him again.

"Did you send me that letter?" He asks next, feeling quite silly.

Fireflies begin to rise up over Makoto in furious blinking, in wordless urges of _yes, yes, yes,_ and he feels the urge to reach up and grab at one, but his limbs all freeze in place at the fact that _the stars might be listening to him._

"Can...you really help me see Haru?"

_yes yes yes_

"Really?"

_yes yes yes_

"Before I can't remember him at all?" _Because it is taking longer everyday,_ seconds turned into minutes into hours. Makoto pictures not knowing Haruka for days—clueless and happy in complete and utter ignorance. _Years._

Makoto doesn’t even want to _feign_ the matter of _years._

But before the stars can answer him again, the morning school bell finds the nerve to ring and the lights flick off in an instant. Darkness rescinds back into the blue stretch, cloudless and mundane, effectively ending Iwatobi's latest _cosmic eclipse._ Students groan over the abrupt finale and the windows slide shut in succession. 

"Tachibana! Get inside! Class is gonna start!" A classmate yells from the window.

Makoto just stays still and closes his eyes to the azure. He's still inclined to listen to the cat, because the celestial has proven more trouble than they're worth, and he has no reason to trust the stars, _no reason at all,_ but he knows no one else has listened to him like this either.

So, in small prayer, he just clasps his hands together and sighs into a last ditch prayer. Hopeful over a potential _nothing_.

Hopeful that this could change everything. 

"To anyone that's listening..."

A single light, concentrated and beaming, glints over the solid sea of blue. It should blind Makoto in that instant, but the appearance of this second sun only helps him along in his pleas. 

“Tell Haru I miss him.”

It’s just funny what a little light can bring.

"And please let me find him." Makoto adds in, last minute. He peeks up once more, like a child speaking to someone he _really_ shouldn’t talking to, and thinks of the heat building back up in his belly, _restless_ and heavy with determination, with heart still barely beating over someone he might never see again. Still terribly worn, but daring enough to get back on one knee.

“Please let me call out to him.”

Ambition rests in the eyes, daring in the smallest amounts. 

Longing knows no bounds of precise memory or physical distance.

With warmth on his face, like the soft pad of fingers tracing along a reddened cheek, Makoto finds a long breath to draw in, like he can dare to start dreaming again.

* * *

 

Little boy blue lies in the meadow, purposely away from the shore. He presses his palms into his eyes and forces out the tears in sniffling silence, gulping down the urge to openly sob. He’s alone, and he has been for the last couple of weeks, as his parents have gone back to the mountains to tend to the flowers and lamp shop has gone quiet. 

After one deep breath and then another, _again_ and _again_ in futility, little boy blue celebrates the passing of his tenth birthday grieving over the lack of his one and only sun.

“Little blue, little blue!”

The boy tries to wipe his tears away before anyone can see. Sitting up, he realizes there’s no one human to actually see him cry.

"Hello?"

The fireflies dance for the summer, but one orb shines brighter than the rest.

“What bothers you?” a single star asks, floating between the thistles like an earthbound firefly. “The _cancer_ constellation burns brightest today! You should be celebrating another year here.” 

Little boy blue draws his knees close to his chest and lets his head fall against his knees, shaking his head profusely. 

“No.” he says, petulantly. He feels a firefly land on his hand.

“And _why not_?”

It had happened suddenly, a couple of weeks ago. The town’s fisherman had taken little boy blue and his best friend onto the deepest part of the lake on his boat, the latter’s early celebration for the passing of the _cancer_ formation.

“ _We’ll be able to see the stars brightest on the water.”_

 _“But you’re afraid of the deep end.”_ Little boy blue had told him. _“I don’t want to go if it scares you.”_

With hand taken and hoisted onto the boat, little boy blue watched him erase all doubt. Sailing into the darkness with nothing but a couple of lantern lights, the two of them had found the light they were looking for, taking turns in picking which stars to fall. All was well, candles were blown, sparks flared and skimmed across the water like skipping stones.

_“Let me get you one.”_

_"You're not allowed to take them into your hands."_

_"Aw, it's just one!"_

_“But they’re too fast to catch anyway."_

_“I’ll be fine! I want to keep my promises."_  

Reaching up for one of those incoming lights, the son of suns stretched out too far over the boat’s railing and fell right into the lake, hitting his head on one of the attachments on the way down. The next couple of hours were a blur—fishing him out of the water, breathing the life back into him, _calling for him,_ desperately, with hands held, _warm on cold_. There were stretchers and screaming parents, a stained glass lamp dropped at the news. There were bandages, wrapped around dried blood, weary doctors. There was _running._ Running, running, running.

 _‘You know, there’s a chance he won’t open his eyes.’_  

Running, running, running.

“You worry for the lamp maker’s son.” The star realizes. “Such a shame at what happened, honestly.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet.” Little boy blue chokes out. “The doctors say he might never wake up.”

“Sometimes tragedy's like that. _Never waking up._ It’ll only happen more and more when you grow up. Do you know how many siblings I’ve lost over the years? Watching them all burn out in droves?”

“It was never meant to be that way.”

“But that is how the course of life goes.” The star tells him, honest as honest can get. “You can’t expect to be together forever.”

The child’s stubbornness rears its ugly head. He rises up from the grass and feels the urge to run away again. It has taken only five years, perhaps even sooner than that, for the word _forever_ to seep into his head and replace all thoughts of things _fleeting_ , and he thinks it’s much too hard to accept anything else. He cannot handle his best friend _leaving_. Not in this way, not towards this unreachable plane.

“You have to help him.” Little boy blue urges with all the courage he has left in his system, no matter how much the stars actually scare him.

“ _Little blue_ , what can we really do, though?” the star says.

“Please.” He begins to cry in his quiet way that makes the world fall silent, because he’s sure he’s never wanted anything more in life. He shuts his eyes closed, like he’s making a million wishes at once, over and over. Breathless, he feels the warm light touch the tip of his nose, like a kiss to calm down.

"Oh...you poor thing." There is no malice in the star's voice. 

" _Please_." 

“You really love him, don’t you?” the star asks.

Little boy blue thinks, _‘yes, I know I do.’_

To the star, he just nods frantically and stifles a hiccup, kneeling back down on the ground and barely able to keep it all together. 

“Please give him as much light as possible. Make sure he never goes without it.” The words seethe in this throat, burning and brilliant.

_Give him the light he always forgets to give himself._

And to this, the star just floats up above, past the weeds of the meadow and ready to take its place back in the night sky.

“I will see what I can do, little blue.” The star whispers softly. “You’re lucky we like the two of you.”

“Thank you.” For the first time, he does not fear what the stars have to offer.

Little boy blue just sleeps by himself in the meadow that night, fireflies carrying away every stray tear. By the morning, the _cancer_ constellation makes a return to its usual dullness.

But it does not matter. Let his birthday pass. There will always be other years to celebrate and other constellations to look at. 

"I found you!"

With the light of his lantern, his only sun stands at the other side of the field, breathless and a little bit wheezy, but still smiling for his best friend.

Brighter than little boy blue has ever remembered.

 

* * *

 

**two weeks and five days later**

 

The cat sits across the table with the dog, lapping up bowls of miso soup while Makoto waits for them to say something, _anything,_ about the matter of forged raptures and sudden cosmic outbursts. Spring has come in at full force with the intention of _ease_ , bathing Haruka's house with the faintest floral smell, with back doors slid open to welcome the crisp breeze, but Makoto can only think of the sweat clamming up his palms and the loud impatient thumping at the back of his head.

"Almost done." The cat announces in between licks, clearly immersed in his food.

Makoto stares down at the rippling broth and oddly thinks of bathtubs traded in for pools, and the announcements of _"Haru, I think you'll be able to swim again soon."_ Chest swelling, it deflates instantly when he remembers that this is the first spring he won't be able to watch Haruka light up at the declaration. His gestures were always so slight, less than momentary really, but Makoto had lived for every precious part of Haruka's excitement. His fleeting breathlessness. A transient hint of his boyish smile.

A sigh escapes, heavy and hard. Makoto misses Haruka as a complete and utter whole, but it is the little pieces that make him ache in all the worst ways. 

"So, how have you been, Tachibana?" The dog asks, gulping down the last of his soup.

Makoto looks up from the table and forces a smile, the worst _lopsided_ kind that says, _'Well, I'm still completely and utterly miserable, but I’m trying.'_

_‘I really am trying.’_

The dog frowns, seeing right through Makoto immediately, but he chooses to ignore it for the sake of afternoon pleasantries. He turns to the cat to mumble about Iwatobi's weather instead, chuckling heartily over this kind transition of seasons. He nips a star sticker off the feline and presses it to the table to reunite it with the others already there, accidentally creating another formation of the _cancer_ constellation.

Makoto's surely memorized the shape of it by now.  With the image, another lost piece of Haruka emerges—the cancer, the _crab, 0-6-3-0, 0-6-3-0, 0-6-3-0,_ June thirtieth, _his birthday_ —and the memory of it all forces Makoto into an emergency exhale.

"All of this cosmic gunk is getting into my fur." The cat grumbles in between gulps. "And I'm not even talking about these _damned_ stickers. You can feel it in the air. All this _star-shine._ " 

The dog nods a little. "I kinda get what you mean...they're usually such pesky little things, but you really get the sense that the stars are really antsy about something this time." 

The cat clicks his tongue. “ _Please_ , they just cause trouble for the sake of trouble.”

"Well, they're certainly touching down this close for a reason."

"To _unhinge_ and wreak havoc."

“Seems like you have _nothing_ but nice things to say about them.” The dog just shares a couple of glances with Makoto, bemused exchanged for frankly terrified.

" _Renegades of the sky_ , I like to call them. If they don’t feel like obeying the gods, they're not going to answer to anyone." the cat moves his bowl aside with dramatic flair, sending it right to the edge of the table. 

"But..." Makoto starts up, biting his lip immediately.

"Hm?" 

Makoto’s not sure if he wants to bring up the whirlwind of fireflies or how the stars followed him by the line of his sight, because it’s _impossible_ , _it has to be_ , for something as grand as them to be following _him_ of all people.

"The letter, the one in gold writing?" Makoto starts off. "The forgery."

The dog nods. "Certainly strange, I'll give you that."

"They're just looking to play tricks. Do you know how many times I've seen them pretend to be _UFOs?_ Caused a whole bunch of trouble in America in the 1950's..."

"But then...?" Makoto starts to ask.

"Then _what?_ " 

"Why would they go through the trouble of defying you? And all the other gods you represent?" Makoto asks in earnest. "Why not...strike me down with lightning, or something?"

"Please do not get stars mixed up with _lightning._ "

"But you get my point, right?"

The cat relinquishes a sigh and crawls under the table in resignation.

"I just don't trust them." The cat mutters. "But do whatever you want to do. Go ahead and get struck by your figurative lightning." 

Makoto feels a shiver inch up the back of his neck.

"Personally, _cat,_ I think you're being too hard on them. Sure, the stars are _wild_ , but my recent studies have shown something softer in the ancient tales—"

"Oh, _no, no one_ wants to hear your revisionist history rants, _dog_." 

"I...kinda do." Makoto admits. 

The cat emerges from under the table, glaring up at the both of them before deciding to take off from the living room without another word.

"Good riddance." Jokes the canine.

The dog just breathes a sigh of relief and digs out a thick yellow envelope from his side, sliding it onto the mahogany with his teeth. Makoto takes it into his hands, reveals the children's book inside, and immediately ponders about the title. _The Star Thieves._  

On the cover rests two boys, holding hands and grinning about whispered secrets, with painted stars dotted in a background sky. Behind them there are houses lit by string lights, shadows lurking at every pane, but besides that, they are alone, together, in their own little world by the shore. On closer inspection, Makoto spots the blue eyes of one child and the brown of his hair on the other. He's holding up a lantern, illuminating both of them in warmth, while the blue-eyed boy looks almost too bashful to smile. 

Undoubtedly _Haruka and Makoto._

"We're on a picture book?" Makoto asks, feeling a little too ostentatious in assuming, but it's not like he has anything to lose.

"Yes." The dog nods from across the table. "I'm releasing it in a couple of months. My illustrator read through the draft and asked for my opinion on the cover, saying she couldn't really come up the image of something _star crossed_ , and well, I guess you two came to mind instead." 

Makoto wilts a little in his kneel, shoulders slumping just the slightest bit.

"So...you think we're star crossed, then?" 

The dog shakes his head.

"Quite on the contrary." He answers. "Take this copy and read through this story yourself. I don't know if you'll feel the same way when you're done, but when I was finished getting down the words...I had this innate sense that I had to include you two somehow."

Makoto frowns a little. "Why?"

"That's what I ask myself, too. But feelings take root in the most unexpected places. There's no fighting certain things."

"Do...you think I'll find any answers in this book?" Makoto asks next. "About the stars?"

The dog shrugs. "It might make you see them in a different light. You might not see anything at all."

Whether or not he finds the answers, Makoto takes the book into his possession, hugs it tight against his hollow chest, and tells himself that he'll savor every word, every piece. Because it might not be Haruka in the story, but it's _something_ about him _—_ a fragment to be cherished, a strange proprietor of hope.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, Tachibana."

And so the dog leaves. Makoto starts on the first page, last of the afternoon sun hitting his back, breeze stifled into nothing. Fireflies, hesitant and dreamy, start drifting into the living room to provide a flickering kind of reading light. 

_Long ago, when people were still born into this place of perpetual night, there lived two boys who lived next to each other by the lake..._

 

* * *

 

On his best friend’s fourteenth birthday, little boy blue comes to understand a few certain truths—about this ghostly dimension, about himself, and the lives that they’re going to lead.

Little boy blue _hates_ being called _little boy blue_ , or any name with the color, because it reminds him of flowers in his parents’ shop. And when he thinks of the flowers in his parents’ shop, he thinks of having to _own_ it one day, of living up to the _eyes behind the blossoms_ , and hating every second of it. Because the problem is, he doesn’t want to live up to anything like _lofty expectations._ Ones that aren’t his to begin with. This is first thing he’s come to understand; he likes _blue_ , wants to swim in it and paint and draw with it, but not if it comes in a dream that isn’t his.

Staring over at the other side of the table, the son of suns blows almost all of his candles out until he reaches the last one. He keeps his eyes on his best friend, eyes almost squinted closed in a wish stopped mid-way, before shutting them and going through with it. There’s clapping and half-hearted cheering from the other kids when the last candle goes out, with gazes met in that split second between light and darkness, and it is here where little boy blue has come to understand something else. 

That he loves his son of suns, the only star that doesn't scare him. He's the only one that doesn't ask about the _bluebird blossoms_. He has never once compared his eyes to the petals.

He's the only one that still holds his hand at this age, when the rest of the world lets go and says, _'it's time for you to start picking some flowers.'_  

"I hope you wished for something good!" One of the boys tells him.

"I did." The son of suns says, brushing embarrassment off with a gentle tilt of the head. 

The realization was not an easy one to come to, because _love_ , in that warm, relaxed sense, has been there all along, since that first touch of hands by the shore. He has always accepted that this feeling might never fade, no matter where he runs off to or hides, but it had never caused any issues. It was a quiet thing, it still _is_ a quiet thing most days, but something else now roars within him, muffled but still reverberating against his bare bones. A love that feels like a universe in a soundproof bottle, ready to pour out from the pressure.

After all their other friends run home for the evening, the two boys decide to sit by the shore as usual. Water runs up to the heels of their bare feet, waves almost carrying their slippers away, and it's oddly warm for the day of the _scorpius_ constellation. The son of suns hums a bit, pointing at a star in the sky and watching it dash across the purplish hue of today's nebula. It crash lands near them, in the shallow part of the lake, splashing the two of them lightly. 

The son of suns gets up from the dirt and rolls up his pants, wading deeper into the glittering water. He bends down and cups some into his hands, astounded at the bits of starlight in his palms.

"Happy birthday." Little boy blue mutters with a reddened face, suddenly, with the slightest awkward timing.

"Thank you." The other boy holds out a hand and comes closer to little boy blue. Fingers lace as they trudge into the deeper parts of the lake, calves half-submerged in late-autumn water, biting and chilled, but eased by cosmic warmth.

"Did you like your cake today?" Little boy blue asks, staring out at the big, full moon.

A laugh emerges. "I did. Chocolate really is my favorite."

"Good. It was my grandmother's recipe." 

"I'll like anything you make."

"Same to you." Little boy blue says in hushed tones, head facing the muting water. His best friend hears him anyway and laughs a bit, hiding obvious nervousness. 

"Even if I can't cook to save my life?"

Little boy blue suppresses a grin and shrugs. "Its just takes a little practice."

The son of suns points up at another star and traces the _cancer_ constellation, letting the formation illuminate the sky along with the scorpion. It dissipates not long after with little fanfare, putting an end to that union, and with that, there is only silence between the two boys.

"You know what a star told me today?"

Little boy blue shakes his head.

"He said I shouldn't be here. That I wasn't supposed to have a birthday this year. Or for the past four, actually." 

"What?"

"That accident on the water was supposed to be the end of me." Green eyes, gleaming with bits of gold, _like he really is a sun_ , peer up at little boy blue. In seriousness, in the smallest kind of sadness.

"It was nothing—"

"You asked the stars for help, didn't you?"

Little boy blue holds onto his hand harder and almost finds it too difficult to look him in the eye. He gulps down and winces from his sudden breathlessness.

"I had to." Little boy blue lets a hesitant gaze stay on his best friend. "I couldn't lose you." His knees shake under him. 

"But they're your stars, too. You had control of them too, _Ha_ —" the son of suns interrupts himself when he knows he's about to say a name he doesn't recognize. He just shakes his head, upset at this all, and releases a wavering sigh.

"The stars are nothing, when it comes to you."

"You don't mean that. You're talking about a whole _universe,_ and I'm just _—_ "

"Don't."

"Ha...ru..." The strange name slips out again, the thousandth time in the past couple of years. Names don't matter to him, as long it is the son of suns calling for him. Little boy blue does his best to muster a smile, if it can even be called that. 

"To me, you are worth more than the universe." The honesty of this statement burns at his throat, spreads red across his face, and threatens to squeeze the air out of his organs. Part of him feels like sinking into the sediments right there, but he holds all of his shaking resolve and continues on. 

"And I would give it up again, if I had to." He almost feels like crying at this point, for something he wishes he didn't understand.

Of the stars running through his best friend's blood, of the strange names that have been on the tips of both their tongues, _Mako-something_ and _Haru-something,_ little boy blue knows another certain truth: that change is upon them at every step of the way, from the broadening of bodies and the changing of names, from shortened times at the shore, feelings confessed.

"And...this light _should_ be yours," Little boy blue says, trying to hold it together, even though he's _surely_ not used to this sort of unabashed candor from himself, and he probably never will be, "Because..." 

 _'Because you always forget to save some for yourself.'_  

Green eyes flick up again.

"Because you're the lamp maker's son." Little boy blue says instead, limiting his truths.

"No, but—" 

"The light suits you." _And you need it._

And before either one of them can say anything else about the matter, the lamp maker herself comes calling from the boardwalks, telling them it's time to come in for tea. Her son calls back to her that they'll be there in a minute, because he surely has one more thing to say. 

"If nothing can be changed at this point," the son of suns tells him, voice low, cracked, "if you've really given all command of the stars to me, that I'll make sure you can always see them. That I'll use them to make us the happiest we possibly _can_ be."

"Us?" Little boy blue chokes out.

Hands still don't let go. The comfort of hands pressed together, fragments of stars between their palms, mitigates the night's oncoming chill.

"Us." The son of suns reiterates, voice softer than anything. A weary little smile emerges from him, resisting the urge to be sad. He turns away from the shore first, unintentionally leading his best friend with fingers still hooked, but little boy blue just lets him lead the way this time. 

"Makoto." That name emerges in calling, foreign on his lips and tongue, but it's not an ugly thing to go by. It fits, somehow.

"There goes that name again," the son of suns breaks their sullenness and laughs, despite the oddity of new monikers, phantom epithets.

"Do you dislike it?" Little boy blue asks, even though he can't help it whenever the name slips. He can't help but think it's from some other dimension, because it certainly doesn't sound like anything from the land of night. 

"Not at all." _Makoto_ shakes his head. "And you? _Haruka?_ What do you think of that?" 

"I don't like it in full." Little boy blue notices, but he doesn't mind when the son of suns says it.

"Haru, then." _Makoto_ says. "If that sounds any better." 

Little boy blue thinks it does, if only marginally, but he doesn't want to think too hard about these secret names spoken by accident.

So he just leads him along, back towards the steps of the boardwalk. Laughter trails behind him, voice a little deeper than little boy blue is used to, but he knows its inherent lightness will always remain. 

"Names don't matter."

 _'Because you see me, whether I'm little blue, or not.'_  

 _'Because I'll love you, whatever you go by.'_  

_'And because I'll always love you, wherever we end up going.'_

 

* * *

 

**three weeks and two days later**

 

With Haruka’s last memento ready for opening, hands shaking so badly he can hardly untie the ribbon on top, Makoto breathes in the incoming wind and tells himself that he can do this. 

“Okay.” Makoto squeezes his eyes shut. “You can do this.”

Stickers fly by on the rooftop like dead autumn leaves, edges worn like they’ve seen some space bound war, with some finding the nerve to skim the top of the picture book at his side. The glow of the sunset borders on lavender today and the second sun remains despite the setting of the first, keeping Makoto company while he hesitates _again_ and _again_ and _again._  

"You can do this."

_'Can you really though?'_

"I can't do this."

_'Oh, come on—it's not the end of the world.'_

He had wanted to open it more than anything when the cat first gave Makoto the gift, but there’s just something about this being the _last_ that unhinges him. It bothers Makoto that, _on some deeper level_ , he’s convincing himself it might _not_ be, that maybe the stars will come through like the story. Opening this gift is like giving into this last hurrah, an admission that Haruka’s really, _really_ gone.

So, with confusion at the helm, down the winding path of ‘ _do I believe the stars or not?’_ and _‘is Haru really gone?’_ Makoto decides that he should open the gift anyway. With fingers curled and about to lift the cover, he closes his eyes, pretends he doesn’t miss Haruka more than anything, at least for the time being, and takes a deep breath. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry,_ he tells himself.

Makoto sees buttoned flannel, smells tea leaves, watches him fall.

_‘You know, this could be the last thing you ever get from him.’_

But Makoto also sees stars and the boy smiling under them. An outstretched palm.

_‘Oh, and what if it’s not?’_

Makoto drops the lid instantly when he hears the door fly open by the stairs. He presses his palms over the box as if to not let anyone else see what’s inside the box before him, freezing in place when Nagisa comes barreling at him, fingers pointed and playfully confrontational. Rei just dawdles after him, carrying both of their backpacks with the purest chagrin.

“Mako-chan!” Nagisa exclaims, voice mockingly deep in preparation for a lecture. However, he instantly drops the facade when he sees the gift box in Makoto's possession, dropping to his knees to take a closer look. 

"A present, Makoto-senpai?"

"Did someone confess to you again today?" Nagisa coos. "Someone got a crush on you?"

"Ah...no." Makoto can't help but go red at the thought of _Haruka_ going red, and the fact that the two of them were way past the point of _crushes—_ Makoto stops himself from reminiscing too much and offers a fond smile, barely forced this time.

"Well, then who's this— _oh_. Wait. Was it from the same guy who gave us all that cool stuff? _Mystery man?_ " Nagisa whispers.

Rei sighs. "That prism he gave me reflects the loveliest light in my room."

"I'd sure like to thank him."

"Me too."

Makoto can't help but let his smile spread, sorely needed because he thinks he hasn't smiled like this in weeks, but _sore_ in thinking he shouldn't be capable of things like this anymore. He lets himself drift off again, thinking of the stories Haruka had told about picking each gift, their meanings, his thoughtfulness— 

"I wanna meet him, Mako-chan."

"What?" 

The declaration, probably something offhandedly said, makes Makoto forget about breathing for a good moment.

"You...can't." The voice inside battles him, reality versus possibility. ' _Yes, he really is gone,'_ versus ' _well, you don't know that for sure.'_

"What is he, a ghost?" 

 _'He might as well be,'_ brawls with _'no, he's still very much alive.'_

"No, he's not—"

"Aw, are you sure you're just not being modest about the presents? You _sure_ he really exists?"

 _'No, he can't exist. He just doesn't anymore.'_  

Makoto feels the tears make a landing, warm against his cheeks.

 _'But he does.'_  

_'In your head, in your heart.'_

_'In the water, in the stars.'_

"Makoto-senpai...are you crying?"

He doesn't try wiping the tears away, but there are no sobs either. He keeps his arms over the box, guarding it with everything that he has. Nagisa pats him gently on the head while Rei drops his bags and sits down, too.

"He’s gone away and I miss him." Makoto admits, choked up, feeling _stupid_ for even letting people see him like this, but hiding away Haruka is just another way of denying his existence, and that is something Makoto is done doing.

War continues to wage in Makoto's head, _defeated_ versus _hopeful_ , and he's sure neither will completely wither away, but he's sick of the constant struggle. It's time to sink or swim.

_'I miss him, but nothing can be done.'_

_'I miss him, but everything's going to be okay.'_  

"I miss him everyday." Makoto finds the audacity to laugh miserably through his tears. Breaths leave erratically from his system. 

It's time to sink or swim.

Gods or stars. 

Let go or reach up.

"But..."

_'There's nothing to be done.'_

_'I'll never get to see him again.'_  

_'I've lost him.'_

"I'll find him again, one day." Makoto nods, system shaking at the answer. "And when I do, you'll meet him too, and you'll get to say your thank you's." 

"We'd sure like that." Nagisa says softly.

"You'll see him again, soon, Makoto-senpai."

Makoto rolls into a whole-body exhale and stares up at the sky, which has rescinded into natural night. The second sun remains in the dark violet, overshadowing the sickly moon and shining brighter than the other stars. 

"Sometimes, long distance relationships get hard." Nagisa tells him, a bit presumptuously. "But if two people really love each other, they'll make it work."

Makoto tears his gaze away from the sky and feels like smiling until he's about to burst.

 _A long distance relationship._ That's one way to put it. 

"I will make this work."

_'I will close the gap and destroy the distance.'_

 

Once Nagisa and Rei leaves Makoto to his own devices, he takes a hold of the box cover and lifts it in the sort of lightness he’d never feel again. Fondly, with the light of the fireflies to guide him again, he finds pictures of Haruka, _still existing_ , in various states with his best friend. There are secret smiles, blue ice pops, childish adventures, quiet instances of adoration. Makoto cries at every single one of them, through laughter, through moments of silence and longing. 

When Makoto reaches the last picture at the bottom of the pile, buried in so many star stickers he almost misses it, he finds that it is drawn, dusty from the touch of pastel. Haruka’s last work.

Two little boys sit by the shore, whispering secrets into each other’s ears. Stars hang above them, yellow and gleaming, water tickling bare feet.

Makoto lifts the picture book from his side and realizes the two pieces are by the same artist. 

“ _Haru_.” Makoto edges out, hands shaking, tracing a finger against the picture of the black haired boy. Despite the way the pastel dust smudges, Makoto can still recognize him, clear as he’d ever been.

And it is here, where Makoto decides.

No sinking, keep swimming, _trust in the stars_ , and reach up at every opportunity.

 

* * *

 

The son of suns, secretly known as _Makoto_ to his little boy blue, sits in the meadow and feels like screaming, knocking the lantern over in all of his miseries and making the fireflies rush up from the thistles in a panic. The stars twinkle in frenzy up above, like soundless sirens.

_‘Little blue, you have been sentenced to the other world, to the barbaric, to be blinded by sun.’_

"Don't cry, little sun."

“Don’t tell me not to cry." The son of suns chokes out, glaring up at the damned sky. “You couldn't do anything. You couldn’t save him!”

“He is not ours to save.” A single star floats down to answer him, gentle, understanding.

“Why not?” _Makoto_ cries out. “You saved me all those years ago...why can’t you do the same for him?”

“Because it’s his will. All those years ago, he decided, ‘ _I need you enough to give up starlight.’_ That is something we’ve abided by. Something we’ll continue to abide by.”

"No… _Makoto_ shakes his head. “Please… _please_ keep him here.”

“You have the strength, little sun.” The star says. “You’re not so _little_ anymore. Although we can’t help little blue directly, we will follow you for any endeavor. We are under your command.”

"So...this means you'll help me?"

"Why, yes! Isn't that clear?"

"But I still don't understand. You are so grand. We are nothing but specks to the stars."

"We've watched you grow into each other over the years. The truth is, we have grown rather attached."

“So do you promise?” _Makoto_ urges. “Do you promise to help me? With whatever I choose to do?”

“Well, of course. Don’t you know? To some, to one, _you are worth more than a whole universe._ ”

The son of suns chokes out the last of his tears, still miserable, but ready to try. He _has_ to be ready, sooner than later, no matter how hard his head pounds _give up_. His heart, though made of glass, still has not broken; it must be melted down at the core, glazed over again for ages to come. 

“Okay.” The little sun says.

“Okay _what_?”

“I will fight for him.”

“Ah, see, now that’s what we like to hear.” 

 _Makoto_ stares up, the warm flicker of light stinging at his cheeks, burning for a split second, before settling into nothing.

“I just...have one more question.”

“Go ahead.”  
  
"That first night the stars appeared to at the shore..." The son of suns asks. " _Why us_?"

The star sighs, dreamy more than exasperated.

“At first, we were just curious. That’s how all cosmic forces start... _curious,_ bored of celestial life. We just happened to find two boys on the shore that night.” 

“What changed?”

“Hm, well, we noticed things were worth watching.” The star answers. “Lovely, _lovely_ things.” 

“What did you see?”

“See, now you’re just being excessive in your inquiries—”

“Please.” _Makoto_ pleads. “Please go on. Why— _why us_?”

The star actually stutters, looking for the right place to begin.

"Well...because there's love when he looks at you." 

"And...me?"

" _Well_ , you're just a little bit more obvious about things." The star chuckles. "But again, it's a matter of growing attached. We're too used to seeing you two together."

The single star just chuckles and sparks up, vibrant, young, and excited and free of trepidation, just like that first time at the edge of the waves. Their first star stills burns brighter than ever, ready to take on the world.

“So, don’t you see, little sun? Don’t you know?” It continues.

 _Makoto_ thinks he will never fully understand, no matter how hard he tries, but all that matters is that this isn’t the end. He has the stars at his side, wild and free, and that is what he will take with him.

 _Every single one_.

“We have fallen in love with you two, every single step of the way.”

 

* * *

 

 

**departure  
one month, two weeks, and three days later**

 

The town of Iwatobi—with precisely a population of 11,655 people, numerous species of the _bluebird_ variety, countless cats, and the abnormality of randomized darkness—does not fret over the recent presence of oddities. As Makoto sits in on the lawn of a semi-crowded park in the mid-afternoon, three days away from graduating high school and two weeks away from moving to Tokyo, he finds peace in the fireflies and the light show above him, breathing in the emerging spring despite the lack of blue skies. 

“You know, I think I’m getting used to all this star business.” Rin tells the rest of the group, grinning up at the newest _cosmic eclipse._

“You won’t have anything like this in Australia.” Nagisa teases.

“ _Oi_ , don’t you go _underestimating_ on me.”

Makoto just laughs and minds to his own thoughts.

Memories of Haruka come in like a stream gently flowing today, airily filling the spaces in his mind instead of burning into orbit. He sees sparklers, tender _first times_ , even the morning light and his lifeless, curled up body, but he feels oddly optimistic at the sights. He thinks, with a sort of recklessness he wouldn’t usually be comfortable with, that he’ll light those sparklers again, find the right moments for _countless_ times, and find definite life in Haruka. With the scent of petals on his nose, wind skimming the fabric of his red plaid shirt, Makoto holds an empty mason jar in his hands and unscrews the lid.

“So...before you two seniors go off on your merry way,” Rei explains. “We figured we should have one last bit of fun.” 

Nagisa grins and chuckles a bit. “We’re gonna have a competition. Let’s see who can catch the most fireflies.”

“ _Oh, please_ , that won’t even be a contest.” Rin shows his pointed teeth, wringing the jar in his hands. 

“Don’t get too feisty now, Rin-chan!”

“It’s not good for your blood pressure.” Rei adds.

“Whatever.” Rin gets up from the lawn and makes the first catch, setting both Nagisa and Rei off too in excited shouts. Makoto watches them scatter across the park lawn, nearly tripping over the other stargazers, locals and new tourists alike. He can’t help but feel alone on the grass, like he’s the only staring up at the stars, but maybe it’s better that way, to think that no one’s looking.

Gesturing up, Makoto points at one of the stars and watches it explode in an impromptu _supernova,_ wowing the crowd in a series of gasps and claps. With everyone enthralled, Makoto forces himself off the ground, onto the main walking path away from the grass, and down the lantern-lit lane. Fireflies land into his jar without him having to lift a finger, while the others form lines against the concrete’s edge.

Makoto walks off while the other three have their fun. He takes another look over his shoulder, fond and somehow nostalgic, whispering, wordlessly, that he’ll be back later. He makes it out of the park grounds and into the neighborhood he’s known all of his life, fingers brushed against familiar stone walls. He passes by his house at the bottom of the stairs, spotting the yellow light of a home that’s been nothing but good to him. His mother is probably doing her usual afternoon reading while Ren and Ran are at school, and his father will be back to greet them all in the evening. 

He finds it in himself to turn to Haruka’s house. The emptiness of it still wrings his chest dry, because it’s still very much his best friend’s house, a simple, tidy place, a second home that’s also been good to him over the years. Memories drift by again, a little clumsier than usual: there are sleepovers and pinky promises under futons, watermelon cuttings in the yard. Makoto laughs at Haruka’s apron, worn over swim trunks, falls into reverence over the last time Haruka and he had sex in his bed. The sensation of remembrance runs from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers, the edges of his toes, leading him step by step. 

 _Step by step,_ closer to where Makoto needs to go.

Makoto finds himself coming down the stairs, past both their houses and towards the beach. The ocean in night is still a foreboding sight to him, and he thinks of every time Haruka’s walked between them. As he thinks of all these small gestures, how covertly kind Haruka can be, fireflies catch in his jar and offer him some small light along the way. The trail of them continues to line the sidewalk, taking off in procession once Makoto passes them on the path. 

Makoto walks on until he reaches the Iwatobi High School pool, wrapped yellow string lights enrapturing the fence rings and the yard’s single tree. Star stickers litter the pool with cherry blossom petals, forming a spring’s worth of new constellations, shimmering soft pink, gold, and aqua. 

Setting down the jar of fireflies, Makoto rolls up his jeans, sits down at the water’s edge, and watches every single firefly rise out of their voluntary prison. 

“I’m here, now.”

He knows today is the day. It’s just a matter of waiting for the stars, of trusting in their light. Closing his eyes, Makoto presses his face to the palms of his hands and breathes through the cracks of his fingers. He’d like to think he isn’t scared. He’d like to think he won’t start crying.

“Tachibana Makoto.”

Makoto tears his hands away and meets the pool’s view again. On the other side, the cat sits in his customary yellow rain boots, holding a letter in his mouth. It’s in a red envelope, predictable star sticker sealing the whole thing together. The dog stands next to the feline, upright with a lack of slouching.

“Are you ready?” A voice calls out—one that doesn’t belong to either messenger.

As if though Makoto’s waited millenniums for this, he welcomes the soothing call of the stars above. He’s never spoken to them like this, _he’s sure of it,_ but it feels familiar. Natural, almost like family. Almost with the same warmth he feels whenever he’s with Haruka.

“I don’t think I ever will be, completely.” Makoto etches out the faintest smile, voice breaking into nothingness. “But I have to try, don’t I?” 

“And we’ll be here, every step of the way.”

Makoto nods to reassure himself. “Because of our promise, right?”

“Oh, _now_ the boy remembers.”

“I…” Makoto looks up at the cosmos. “I don’t. Not completely. I don’t think I’ll ever remember it all, but...we’re...the two boys from that story, aren’t we? It's just this feeling I can't shake."

Makoto glances over at the dog, who just nods solemnly.

“Yes.” the star says. “You still are. You have never left that existence, and neither has Nanase Haruka. We have watched your souls sleep separately for millennia, only for you to find each other again here, in Iwatobi."

“Then...why couldn’t you stop him from disappearing?” Makoto chokes out, not meaning to sound so spiteful about this all, but he can’t help it. 

“The other _you_ asked the same thing.”

“That...doesn’t answer my question.” 

The star goes silent for a moment.

“The _Haruka_ of old then once told us...that you often forget to leave the light on for yourself.”

“Haru?” Makoto asks. In reeling memory, he watches as Haruka catches the summer’s first firefly. He switches on the lamp during a thunderstorm. Hands slide over each other when he gives Makoto the last sparkler in the pack.

“So he left you every star in the universe. He’s the reason you have us coursing through your veins. He’s the reason you were able to steal us all away in the first place.” 

Makoto shakes his head, mouthing the name of his blue-eyed boy. The image of Haruka squints from the sheets, from the view of the shore, from the bottom of the empty pool, sweet and sincere. Sentimental with the things Makoto often overlooks about himself.

“He’s the reason the gods were never able to find you. You blind them with your light. You have become a new being altogether.”

Haruka holds Makoto’s hand, to get him to stop shouting at the sky.

Haruka tells Makoto not to chase after speeding stars on the boat deck.

Haruka reaches for one himself anyway, because he thinks Makoto deserves it all.

“He’s kept you safe all this time, _little sun_.”

With this, Makoto leans over the pool and watches his tears drop into the water for one last time. No new memories of Haruka come streaming into his consciousness, but he knows he doesn’t need any more of them. Makoto has made up his mind. He has to go. _He has to go._

**_He has to go._ **

**_It’s time to go._ **

Because longing knows no bounds of precise memory or physical distance. 

The star mumbles about revealing Makoto to the gods, _tattling_ for the greater good. He doesn’t care about any of this. Heat rises up like lightning up his spine. Makoto’s already thinking of running up to Haruka on the shore he’s never seen.

"Godspeed and good luck." The dog's well-wishes wash away with the waves. 

“The moment I announce it, you’re gone.” Makoto hardly catches the cat's warning. 

“There’s no guarantee how long you’ll have with him, but we’ll try our best.” The stars say, right at his side.

 **_He has to go._ **  

 ** _It’s time to go._**  

Eyes glaze over at the cat, who rips open the letter to make his announcement. Nothing is forged this time. The gods believe in _the son of suns._ The stars have come through on their promises.

“If you are ever to lose the one you love, you will disappear.”

Makoto closes his eyes, Haruka’s hands reach up without falling away, and the last of the fireflies escape their prison.

“This has been a warning for your personal rapture.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks for sticking around for another installment of this long and winding fic...I can't believe it's nearing the end but, well, at least it rings hopeful, right? 
> 
> I also hope nothing was confusing, because I wanted to play with different dimensions..it's like two separate lifetimes calling out to each other, both of them intertwined. (Although the phantom dimension's makoharu was characteristically more fairytale for sure, I tried to create analogies to some of the themes in ES, like the idea of change, expectations, growing up, so hopefully that's apparent.)
> 
> Anyway, that's all I want to say. I still have a few more things to tie up and address, so it's not quite over yet. Soon, though...q_q
> 
> Find me on @asplendidmoon on twitter or kick me in the butt on companions.tumblr.com!


	13. the garden of everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> _For years and years and years,_ he has never let himself forget a single second of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song, "The Garden of Everything" by Maaya Sakamoto and Steve Conte, a huge inspiration for the writing of this chapter! (Seriously, I looped this non-stop for like hours)

☆

 

**Candidate #23561**

Name: Nanase Haruka

Other Aliases: _Little Boy Blue, Blue Eyed Boy_

Status: Collected, Inducted

Occupation: Artist

Birth Season: Cancer

TID (Time in Dimension): 445 years

 

Notes and Observations: Has adjusted accordingly to the dimension with no signs of external distress or rebellion. Neighbors say he is quiet and keeps to himself, and spends most of his time on the shore or the lake.

Rising star in the region for watercolor paintings and sketches, mostly of former hometown sceneries and scenarios.

Is particularly inclined to a mostly seafood diet, mixed with other basics. As for frivolities, he prefers blue ice cream pops.

Little to no friends, has joined no neighborhood sports teams or associations. Has no interest in the local artists' guild.

Memories of both lifetimes are still intact, with the second one preferred over the other.

 

☆

 

Haruka catches the light in the corner of his eye, gone too quickly to allow even the smallest gasp. In that fleeting moment he dares to call it a shooting star, a phantom's kiss stains Haruka's cheek, its tenderness real but fleeting, as the ghost of touch brushes past the palm of his hand. The boy's smile stretches across Haruka's memory, like the trail of a comet making an upward turn back into orbit.

 _"Haru."_ The way the wind whispers Haruka's name reminds him of eons past, of gently proud calls, vivid wrapped in something subtle.

It's _Haru, Haru, Haru_ every time, like a love song set to two syllables. It’s a tune Haruka can’t get out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.

"Makoto?"

Haruka finds himself calling a name he hasn't spoken in forever, wading in deeper against the shore and darting his gaze around. In this dimension, dimly lit and almost dead, it's always too hard to see past a couple of meters, so Haruka gives up his pursuits easily to opt for continued darkness. He stares up, finding only a sickly crescent moon, the clouds looming around it like wispy reapers.

_“I guess I’ll kiss you for every star I see tonight.”_

Haruka feels his chest curdle at the promise never forgotten. In intentional distraction, he squeezes his palms shut, sucks in the spring air, and stares out once more at the deepest part of the lake, where he thinks he might go sailing later. He’ll bring his sketchbooks, work on some commissions, and empty the recesses of his mind, of all things Makoto. Suns can't exist here, anyway. ' _There's no use in getting worked up over this_ ,' is what he tells himself every single time. 

 _“Haru.”_  

But like muscle memory, Haruka feels the tips of his fingers reach up at the useless sky anyway. 

"Little blue! Little blue!"

Haruka instantly rescinds and looks over his shoulder in defense.

An old woman calls from the boardwalk, leaning over her cane on one hand and beckoning for Haruka with the other. He waves in small motions and offers her the faintest of smiles, because she reminds him of his grandmother, _in fact she might as well be_ , and climbs the ladder back up away from the shoreline. Wrinkled hands curl around Haruka’s, old blue eyes peering up under dim lantern light, and she offers a sad, wistful smile right back at him.

“You were thinking about that boy again, weren’t you?” Granny asks with a sigh.

Haruka can feel his stomach drop into oblivion, but he chooses not to answer her.

“There’s no use hiding it from me, my boy, because my grandson used to have that same sadness in his eyes.” she chuckles. “It’s not good, you know...being this young and so sad.”

“Young?” 

"Why, yes. What else can that _look_ be?" 

"Nothing."

Haruka counts the many moons he’s seen in this dimension, all of the seasons he’s been through. His bones feel brittle with every step around town, and his voice runs withered at every breath of forced speech. Looking down at the taut skin of his hand, still _eighteen_ and spry by all accounts, he feels much older than that—like he should have died a long time ago.

“Oh, don’t question me now.” Granny loosens her grasp on Haruka’s hand and hums a familiar little tune. “Everyone in this place whines about how drab they feel here, and I don’t want you starting that nonsense, too.”

Peering ahead, Haruka sees the shadows of abandoned storefronts and the emptiness of a town asleep for the evening.

"It's not nonsense." He finds himself saying.

“ _No._ ” she wags a finger. “Don't you dare, little blue. I won't let you fall into misery! Especially on your birthday, of all days."

Haruka's eyes sink even further in their sockets. _Birthdays._ How unnecessary. He hates celebrating his birthday here more than anything, because it just reminds him that he's been here too long.

"You know, I have a surprise for you." Granny puts a finger to her lips and laughs a bit. 

Haruka just nods along, because he always knows what this means. Just as Haruka bakes the old woman a cake and takes her sailing under her favorite full moon every year, granny bakes one right back and sets a picnic for him in the thistles. He expects this year to be no different. 

"How do you feel about strawberry shortcake?" she asks, as they make their way down the walking path.

Haruka shrugs. "Anything is fine." He's honestly not picky, when he can hardly remember what good food tastes like anyway. He had dulled those senses long ago.

"My grandson used to say the same thing...it's really uncanny how similar you two are." Granny muses, scuttling along the boardwalk, past the lane leading to the thistle fields. Haruka stops and tries to lead her back before realizing she has other intentions. 

"He always got really excited about _one_ kind of cake, though...once a year, on the day the _Scorpio_ constellation came brightest, he always asked me for help to make the _beeeest_ chocolate cake imaginable. _Ah_ , I've never seen so much ambition in his eyes—it kinda looks like that, when I see you staring at the shore."

Haruka reddens. "Oh." he mutters. 

In the clearest sort of dual memory, Haruka sees Makoto blow out the last candle of his birthday cake—one for this lost dimension, and the other for a more familiar, missed home. Remembering Makoto's squeezed, shut eyes, face focused in the precious making of a rare birthday wish, Haruka smiles down at the rickety steps as he walks, almost bumping into the old woman and nearly stepping on the backs of her ankles.

"Here we are." Granny tugs on Haruka's shirtsleeve. Haruka has to force himself to drift out of dreaming.

In the periphery, his gaze catches something bright. Yellow light has drowned the dark foundation of the town's long abandoned lamp shop, welcoming the two of them to come inside. With caution, Haruka finds himself looming closer at the sight of it, pressing his hands on the cracked glass of the display pane. Hanging chandeliers glitter inside, while rows of table lamps make a procession of illumination.

Turning back to face the old woman, a wide smile creeps past her wrinkle lines.

"This...can't be." Haruka edges out, keeping his hand pressed on the storefront window. "Did you turn them all on?" he asks, because as far as Haruka is concerned, he has never seen a speck of light anywhere in the building. He's checked everyday on his way back to his apartment on the second floor of his own decrepit flower shop, only to find nothing but cobwebs and the occasional mouse. 

Granny shakes her head and blinks up fondly at the light display.

"The lights turned on by themselves, when you left for the shore. I was just surprised as you are, but I figured it'd be nice to celebrate here this year. We can sit with the weeds later."

Haruka mouths the name before catching another glimpse of a falling star by the beach.

 _The son of suns. Little sun. His only sun._ A stained glass lamp in different shades of green flickers in that precise moment Haruka takes his hand off of the glass.

 _Makoto._ The chandelier reflects the warm lamp light like rain, creating specks of gold at Haruka's feet.

Haruka lets himself rise up in the thought of all these things before shaking himself free of his ruminations. Smashing his lips tight and closed, he feels his knees wobble beneath him again as he comes back down to face the truth of things. Granny is asking him something, but he lets the question slip right by him when Makoto still resides in the forefront of his mind.

For years and years and years, it has been this way. 

 _For years and years and years_ , he has never let himself forget a single second of him.

 _“Haru.”_ Haruka hears his name in the wind, blown through across the dimensions. What a nonsensical thought. His mind switches gears in that exact moment he conjures it, defenses high against excessive hope.

_'Wouldn't it be easier to forget him?'_

Despite his inattention, granny doesn't waver anyway. “The cake’s inside. I _would_ ask about what you’re wishing for this year, but I think I know well by now.”

Haruka nods blankly at her but finds his mind conjuring up other thoughts.

_'Wouldn't it be nice, to live without the memory of him?'_

_'Wouldn't it hurt a lot less?'_

_'Because you could wish for that, you know.'_

_'All you have to do is go inside.'_

With conscience stirring and hanging heavy with logic, Haruka looms closer to the front door, keeping his hand held over the knob. The lights inside all flicker when he starts to turn. He turns back to face granny, who seems to have no plans of going into the shop with him, despite the work she must've put into baking his cake like she has every year.

“Are you coming, too?” Haruka asks, hoping that she's just being clever, but the woman shakes her head and offers another smile.

“How about you make your wishes alone this year? I fear that me _knowing_ what you always wish for might spoil your chances of it coming true.” She laughs, livelier than Haruka could ever muster, before looking out at the lake and peering up at her favorite moon. “Maybe I’ve been spoiling it all along," she jokes.

Haruka shakes his head, his bashful way of saying, _‘don’t say that.’_

“Oh, go on, you silly little boy. I still have to set up the picnic anyway.” 

“But—”

“Make it a good one.” Granny interrupts him. “And don’t bow your head when you say your prayers. Hold your head up high. Let ‘em know that you’ve got a birthday wish, and you intend on having it _come true_.” 

Haruka opens his mouth to say something else, but he quickly washes his rebuttals away with a hard-fought gulp.

“Because you've waited too long, little blue.” 

Her parting words leave with Haruka with a shiver. She sighs, blows a kiss up at the sky for well wishes, _like she always does_ , and winks at her grandson. Making her way down back the boardwalk, she continues to hum her little tune, leaving Haruka with the dark expanse behind him, a palace of light in front, and the wish to be made inside.

And so he goes. He lets himself into the lamp shop, home of _his only sun_ , and swipes his fingers across curved lampshades and stained glass. Wandering around in a place never explored, but all too familiar anyway, Haruka maneuvers past long-stemmed floor lamps and carts of unpolished light bulbs, untangling bundles of string lights and tidying up various tool boxes. Making his way up the stairs, Haruka looks over his shoulder at the shop floor below him, at this bed of unrealized light. He lets himself be taken by it for a moment, traces the familiar star stickers on the stair railing, and walks on with phantom kisses trailing up his neck and pressed against his cheek. 

The ghost of touch returns. An imagined hand trails right behind Haruka’s, thumb teasing against the side of Haruka’s wrist. He doesn’t mind letting the feeling of it linger. 

Haruka sits down alone at the table where his grandmother’s cake waits for him. Strawberry shortcake, just as promised. An unlit sparkler stands proud, stuck in the cream, and a set of matches waits for Haruka on the side. He strikes one, lights the firework with a small _pop_ , and watches his makeshift star do magic.

_“I liked your sparklers.”_

A sigh emerges for a memory not sought after.

_“I’m glad.”_

People wish for a multitude of things. Good fortune, decent health. High grades, low stress. Haruka thinks back to all of the inane wishes he’s used for a limitless supply of _mackerel_ , or more time in the pool. Socks or a warm bath, when he couldn’t think of something important on the spot. Then he remembers more significant things, like ‘ _I hope to never disappear,’_ or _‘Let me live.’_  

Or, _‘Let me stop being in love with him.’_

 _God_ , how Haruka wishes he could take that one back.

With sparkler at its familiar half-life, Haruka stares across the table meant for two. He imagines Makoto sitting there, quiet in anticipation with his chin perched in his hands. He's always been the type to watch Haruka in the aftermath of blowing out his candles, instead of clapping or cheering for the year to come like the others, and this year would've been no different. Haruka thinks that _this year,_ they'd even catch each other staring through the smoke. 

Maybe there'd be a kiss afterwards, or the simple linking of hands under the table.

 _"I hope you have the best birthday, Haru,"_ he would finally say, as if Makoto was stealing a wish himself.

The sparkler in the cake, like any other sort of star, reaches the end of its life with one last burst before going out. In that moment, Haruka takes a deep breath, claps his hands together, and closes his eyes to speak to anyone that may be listening. He chases out the aches that urge him to _stop remembering_ , because that's the last thing he wants, no matter what the pounding in his chest says, or what the throbbing in the back of his cluttered head nags at.

With heavy heart, burdened with memory after memory, Haruka still makes his usual pleas.

_'Let me continue to love you.'_

_'I wish to never forget.'_

In partial remembrance and the usual longings, Haruka sees that vision of Makoto across the table. His smile, gentle and holding back breathiness, never wavers or morphs into something of faded nostalgia.

Vividness remains even after the sparkler has gone out.

 

☆

 

**Candidate #?????**

Name: ?????

Other Aliases: _?????_

Status: Collected, Erratic Transmission

Occupation: None

Birth Season: ?????

TID (Time in Dimension): 15 seconds

 

Notes and Observations: Not fully inducted into society, first of many (predicted) attempts at transmission. Will need to inform gods of this.

Biological systems show unprecedented amounts of other materials.

Needs further observation.

 

☆

 

_he loves me, he loves me not_

_he loves me, he loves me not_

 

In the fields, Haruka never finds the inspiration to paint. Instead, he picks up a _bluebird blossom_ from between the thistles and yellowed dandelions, pinches the stem in between his fingers, and examines it up close. Of the old life Haruka's taken years to remember, _the life of little boy blue,_ he doesn't quite share the same disdain he once had for the petals, leaving them in place instead of plucking them off in any sort of malice. He finds a couple more in the meadows, cups them in his palms, and lets the natural breeze take them wherever they're meant to go in this endless summer.

 _“Please give him as much light as possible. Make sure he never goes without it.”_  

In this other life, in this same meadow, he had wished for the stars to stay with Makoto, always and forever. Putting away his paints, gold and black and other vibrant hues he almost never uses, Haruka hopes the stars have kept their promises for the days to come.

 

 _he loves me, he loves me not_  

_he loves me, he loves me not_

 

Peering up at the sky he and Makoto no longer share, he'd like to know how much time has passed since he's actually left. He wonders how his _little sun_ is doing. 

Has Makoto graduated yet?

Has Makoto said his goodbyes to Iwatobi and moved to Tokyo?

Has Makoto settled into the lifetime Haruka's always wanted to spend with him?

Because it's _Makoto_ , after all. A good lifetime, _a wonderful lifetime,_ is all that awaits him. Stars line Makoto's pockets, and his _own_ merit trumps everything cosmic to begin with, so there’s no doubt he'll bring light to whatever he chooses to do. Haruka pictures him in the pool with new, scared students, putting them at ease. He imagines a tidy apartment with the same brown striped comforter, a couple of houseplants, and an affectionate cat with a crush on her owner. With reluctance, he imagines him holding hands with someone new, because he's _bound_ to find someone, _who wouldn’t like—oh_...no.

_No, no, no._

There's no use in drawing conclusions like this. Haruka erases all of the questions he can't answer, the _where’s_ , the _who’s,_ the _what’s,_ the _why’s,_ leaving just the one that always has a habit of staying, bolted down in permanent memorial.

_'Have you forgotten me yet?'_

And when Haruka's sights go blurry from the endless darkness, he decides to kick his feet against the dirt and kneel back down on the barren earth. Another form of the question rears itself and blooms in emerging headache.

_'Can you remember me at all?'_

Because the fields may be a little emptier without the presence of this floral azure, but Haruka thinks it will forget at some point. It has room to grow and find other things, to expand and reach new ground.

_'Makoto?'_

Haruka calls the name wordlessly, picking petals along the way.

 

 **_he's forgotten me_ ** _, he's forgotten me not_

_he's forgotten me, **he's forgotten me not**_

**_he's forgotten me,_ ** _he's forgotten me not_

 

On the last petal, the **_forgotten me not_** _,_ Haruka hears the sky sizzle above him.

 

In complete clarity, he catches a single star burst across the continuous night, yellowed and brilliant, touching the edge of a moon half full. It sparks in vibrancy before dissipating into the darkness, hiding behind a deep forest of trees. Haruka peers up for more, heaving just at the possibility of an extended star shower, before finding nothing. The clouds just lurch on in the aftermath, on the way to cover the taunting moon.

 _He hasn't forgotten you,_ the child's game says, as if picking petals can determine anything at all. He lets the naked stem fall from his hands, keeping a petal tucked in his palm for safekeeping. 

With steps falling forward on their own, away from the shore he’s supposed to sail off from for the rest of the day, Haruka trudges through the ragweed and nearly chokes into his next breath. His hands itch to reach up, and he’d like to leap up and leave gravity, but there aren't enough stars to let him do that. As far as he's concerned, he'd need a sky full of them to find his convictions. 

Haruka imagines Makoto, back turned, in a new life, the ghost of him pulling pathetically at the hem of a red plaid shirt. 

 _"I love you, Haru."_ Haruka imagines the words he might never get to hear again.

"I love you, too." He mumbles to the wildflowers ahead, to the eavesdropping moon. Instead of reaching up, he cups his hands to his mouth to hide his redness from exactly no one.

_'I miss you.'_

Tearing his gaze and hands back down to observe gravity, Haruka finds another _bluebird blossom_ between the soles of his shoes and lets it stay on its stem, to grow for another day. He crouches down, envelops the star-shaped flower with both his hands, and breathes out a sigh like it’ll help it along. Like it'll help him find serenity, himself.

The aroma is sweet, but hardly soothing. This is when Haruka remembers, memories rewinding into another lifetime.

_'Oddly using starlight to grow them instead of the fabled sun...'_

Bluebird blossoms can't grow in the absence of stars.

An impossible shade of blue blooms in this place of darkness and a boy cautiously seeks to renew hope. Meanwhile, another light trails across the sky, discreet to the world beneath it, but still needed to be seen. It thinks it will try again, over and over, until _caution_ finds the will to wither away into reckless abandon. 

Until the boy can look up and find his light.

 

☆

 

"Oh, little blue, the strangest thing happened to me today." Granny muses while blowing kisses up at the moon. Today, the boat has been rocking gently under them in the minimal breeze, as if to quietly mourn the end of summer.

"Hm?"

Haruka lines his finished canvas up to the backboard of the frame, making sure the corners line up. He leans over on the deck and blows away any remaining eraser shavings, groaning silently when he realizes how long he's actually been sitting here like this. It's hard to find the right angle where both drawing _and_ keeping an eye out on the sky is possible, and it's not like discovering it has been of any extra comfort. With an achy back, Haruka sits up fully and peers up once more, finding the night's usual vacancy. He sighs over his futilities, gulps down the slight lump in his throat, and places the wooden border over the finished drawing, pressing it into place with a short little huff.

"Well, I was by the markets this morning, thinking that we could have a nice casserole for dinner later, and I was in the middle of talking to the fisherman...when I was interrupted by the strangest young man."

Granny always runs into the strangest people in town and on the outer limits, so this doesn't exactly surprise Haruka. He remembers the time granny accidentally sold the flower shop to a tricky clown by the docks, and how he had to negotiate out of that debacle. He hopes that this isn't that sort of story. Haruka isn't ready to put any further effort into things today.

"You could tell he was new...one of those poor _newly arrived_ sort."

Haruka remembers the first time he landed in the phantom dimension, how the first words out of his mouth were, _Makoto, Makoto, Makoto,_ the first in scared lulls, the second in something raised, and the third in complete and utter loss. He remembers someone trying to calm him down, telling him, _'there is no Makoto here.'_ Haruka just shakes the thought off and beckons for granny to finish her story. 

"Well, it was rather frightening, because he passed out right in the middle of the square!" Granny clicks her tongue, because she's always had a problem with how new transfers have been handled. After all, Haruka was on the verge of death in his first days here, and he has to admit that he wouldn't be here without her help.

"And?" Haruka can feel his hands shake over the frame, but he tries to ignore the strange feeling. There's no reason for him to get this riled up over one of his grandmother's silly asides.

"Oh, he was so scared after he woke up...I don't think he knew where he was at first. What's the word? _Disoriented?_ He was that, for sure."

Haruka peers down once more at his drawn picture in habit, a commission for a wealthy governor on the west side. Makoto's face is partially hidden behind an array of uncolored hydrangeas, but a hint of a smile can be caught from under some of the leaves. This time, he's chosen to draw Rin with him, giving an impromptu name for the happy little scene: _Flowers after rain, with swimmer and star._

And like all the others, Haruka has decided not to sign his name on the canvas.

"I think he was looking for someone."

Haruka's sights stay fixed on the boy behind the hydrangeas, colorless and drawn with imprecise shadowing.

_'Makoto? Makoto!'_

"Who was he calling for?" Haruka finds himself asking, even if he doesn't mean to. After four hundred years, curiosity still finds a way to be piqued. 

_'Makoto!'_

"Well, that's the strange part." Granny answers him, voice softening into something full of pity.

Haruka tears his gaze away from the picture and back at his grandmother, who's directed her attention to the water below, gold metallic bits swimming in it like algae bloom. The both of them stay quiet for a moment, in reverence over the long night and the mysteries of this fickle world. A fish swims up to the surface and laps up a star's fragment before making its descent below the surface.

The recollection of that first day plays itself over and over and over. Running through the meadows, Haruka stumbles onto the boardwalk with knees scraped, hands scratched.

_'Makoto...Makoto!'_

"He was gone in a flash, without a word." Granny says. "It was like seeing a half-formed ghost."

In memory, a fisherman and a kind old woman shine a hazy lantern in Haruka's face and lift him off the ground. _'There is no Makoto here,'_ they tell him, before he goes under. 

"I see."

Granny sighs. "I certainly hope he finds his way."

"Yeah," Haruka answers in trying to regain listlessness, hands easing off the polished frame.

Despite the spark running up his back, burning up and leaving its tracks, Haruka convinces himself that none of this is anything. After all, people come falling into this world all the time, still clinging onto the other plane with unfinished yearnings. This probably isn't anything. _It shouldn't be anything._

So, as Haruka continues to convince himself of this, half-distracted with his newest work and the empty sky above, he lets himself hang on the side of his boat to skim the cosmic-laced water with his fingers. No stars fall to cause false hope today, and Haruka thinks that it might be better this way.

As he glimpses once more at the boy hiding behind the bed of flowers, _little blue_ wonders if he should just resign his memories to half-done sketches after all. Monochrome caricatures could take over for full color. 

 _'Give away hope and stop looking for stars,'_ is what Haruka tells himself on particularly dark days like this. ' _Don't get excited over granny's tales.'_

Picking up the shimmering pebbles in his hand, remarkably thin and hardly the size of an eye's dilated pupil, Haruka brings them back on deck and dries them with the soft blow of his breath. He hides them between the drawn hydrangea petals, thinks about the splash of color they bring to the dreariness, and shows a soft hint of a smile. 

"I hope you find home." Haruka prays quietly, to no one in particular.

Granny just chuckles, takes one of those little stars from the canvas, and kisses it for good luck.

 

☆

 

More often than not, Haruka ends up falling asleep in the meadow with his sketchbook tucked under him. Today is no different, minus the bluebird blossoms that grow around him in the grass, and the misting of a rare and oncoming storm. Groaning, Haruka opts to let the first drop hit his face, half-convinced that the rain has decided to visit him in a pleasant, watery dream. 

The smell of a new spring, damp and tinged with freshness, puts Haruka more at ease than usual. It reminds him of newness in a place that offers little of that, and he wonders if he could sleep through this storm. Granny would probably scold him to get inside. 

Still, as he drifts off into an ill-advised slumber, Haruka feels someone tuck a bit of his hair behind his ear, nimble like the person's done it a thousand times before. The delicate hand brushes up against his temple next, failing to ease any redness on Haruka's skin.

"It's raining." The phantom says. "You're going to get sick if you get wet." 

Haruka, almost completely gone at this point, just offers a whittle of a smile, nonsensical and on his way to the world of dreaming.

"You always say that." Haruka teases him right back. 

"And you never listen anyway." That precious laugh emerges, predictably uneasy in times like this. It's also _predictably_ kind, like a child's, and for a moment, Haruka still feels tethered to daylight and all things bright.

"You can always keep trying." Haruka mutters, not sure if the shadow can even hear him. The following silence almost makes Haruka drift away right there from the peace of it.

"Oh, believe me, I will." The phantom tells him, certainly determined for a figment of Haruka's imagination, like he's dreamed up something human. Haruka feels the bare plush of a kiss on the back of his hand next, full of grace and the slightest motion, careful and caressing and almost _cherishing_. It's one of the last things Haruka remembers, before falling into deep, deep dozing.

"I will always keep trying." The phantom whispers in his ear before vanishing from the plane altogether.

"Because it's you, Haru."

 

☆

 

_"Welcome to Little Blue's Flower Arrangements"_

With lines out the door and granny's generally weak disposition, Haruka has resumed watering the _bluebird blossoms_ in the fields for her on most days. She keeps telling him, ' _I'll get an errand boy, I swear,'_ but the thing is, Haruka doesn't really mind tending to them this time. He likes the reprieve of not having to paint for commissions every day, and he thinks there are worse things than making trips to the town well. He imagines his old self, that _little boy blue_ , scolding him from the deepest recesses of his memory, but all of that feels so far away now. A lot of things do.

 _"The bluebird blossoms—grown by the power for starlight!"_  

Today, the petals are strong and velvety under his touch, and each bulb has grown into something star shaped, their shade of azure as strong as ever. As Haruka picks one out of thousands, he thinks of how its blueness reminds him of daylight skies. A swimming pool in summer, shimmering and chlorinated, rushes over his skin. He wishes he still knew how to swim.

Haruka sighs. Sometimes the memory of this _—_ the swimming, the pool, his friends _—_ hurts more than anything, but today Haruka will take it in with stride. The season of the _bluebird blossom_ has to end at some point, anyway. He tells himself this shade is temporary.

_"Come one, come all—to see the universe's favorite flower!"_

_"Brilliant blue for all of eternity!"_

Remembering the newfound slogans, Haruka watches a star dash across the usual sky, breath catching and flower dropped at the sight of it. Under him, the dormant rise up from slumber, blooming all at once in a field of endless billows.

 

☆

 

Five years pass after the star's last appearance.

Various lamps of all shades and sizes light themselves on the boardwalk ledge, dressing the beach in the romance of a cozy, comforting gleam. The nights have seemed less lonely, and Haruka swears he’s never seen so many people out at once, not since the stars lived here, so he takes the time to click on his own light to join in the festivities. But as he brushes off the last bit of dust off the green stained glass, Haruka places the lamp next to him on the bench outside his storefront, looks out at all of the people, and realizes that this isn’t his levity to share in. Because, deep down, it feels _wrong_ basking in Makoto—the generous light, this sort of liveliness—without actually having him here.

Haruka hums out a sigh, content to watch on from the distance. Bluebird blossoms grow on the storefront ivy behind him.

To have this place look more and more like his best friend, in the town’s sunnier disposition, in rows and rows of impossible luminosity, Haruka thinks the gods will never finish playing with him. Haruka hears Makoto’s laugh in the wind and feels his grace in other children’s smiles. Haruka had been promised darkness, only to find less and less of that everyday. Light pervades without the need for stars or a single sun. 

“Maybe the stars will come out today!” 

Two little girls whisper between each other up ahead, both of them too short to see over the boardwalk fence. Their tiptoes reach up in boundless optimism.

“Aw, momma says not to get so worked about them. They’re not real.”

“Well, _I_ think they’re real.” The other girl says.

“ _Psh!_ How can you be so sure?”

“Just a feeling. You can smell it in the air.”

“Hm...I guess you’re right! Being here has felt a little funny lately.”

“ _Funny?_ What do you mean, _funny_?”

“Like...this place is changing. The other day, I caught this weird _light-up_ bug. _Blink, blink,_ it went!"

"You’re weird.”

“Hey, you're the one who started all this _star_ talk..."

From there, the children unlatch themselves from the ledge of the boardwalk, take each other’s hands instead, and run off into the evening. Haruka lets his gaze linger at them; he can’t help but be jealous at the way the two of them can hold on and never have to let go.

His sights focus next on the shore, where people are building bonfires and wading in the shallow waves. Genuine laughs emerge in the salt-filled air and lights burn bright for this lakeside town, the heart of this phantom dimension. 

"Look!" one of the children shouts, pointing up at the sky. A soaring star bursts on the scene,the first one in months, making a slow descent before diving headfirst into the lake. As assertive waves crash against the shore, glittering gold bits spreading across the water's surface, beachside residents all let out a collective cheer for another fabled star, here to raise their spirits. Here to say, ' _we do exist here.'_

Sparking up as if they've got something to prove.

Haruka watches the last figment of light vanish from the sky before closing his eyes, fluttering until completely shut from the world, and feels someone take his hand. Over to the aching bone of his knuckles, over the flesh of his paint-stained palm, warmth clasps on and intends to never go. 

The squeeze is firm, but oddly delicate in manner, careful but oddly protective, too.

Soft, yet so assured.

In imagination, Haruka pretends Makoto is kneeling in front of him, all green eyes and soft resolve, relief washed over him like he's been searching all this time. _Like he hasn't forgotten._ Finding more than a phantom's random touch on his skin, Haruka has to convince himself that none of this can be real and that illusions can't fool his senses for long. He won't betray his line of vision for the sight of nothing. He will not get riled up _over nothing._

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, like that first time on the double-lined road, like the first time on the stairs in Iwatobi. 

And of course, for the sake of _self-preservation,_ Haruka wants to say no, but he doesn't. He won't. He just nods and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the impact of lip's plush. With eyes still closed to the world in front of him, with townsfolk crying, _'meteor shower, meteor shower!'_ ahead on the beach, Haruka feels a familiar kiss placed on him, barely there but felt with everything he can muster. _A kiss for every star_ , in a manner that's almost too convincing. _A kiss for every star,_ like it's actually _him_ here, like it's _his_ mouth sighing away in separation. With every moment, Haruka lets himself get lured away little by little, lips longing for more, before restraining himself from the touch.

"Haru." The illusion breathes the name slowly. It is even sweeter than Haruka's ever remembered. _'Haru'_ cries out _home_ without physical plane and becomes refuge without brick and mortar.

Haruka wants to run back at the call, back to his heart's home— _Haru, Haru, Haru—_ but he won't beckon for disappointments. In a place of the spectacular and the otherworldly, he won't fall for this mind-made specter.

 _'You can't be here.'_ He tells himself with a heavy swallow, as he follows after his delusions. The shooting star blazes across closed lids and the impossible flowers bloom. The lights switch by themselves in the lamp shop, seeking to kill darkness and doubt— _all four hundred and fifty years' worth._

And this is when Haruka feels like crying on the spot, because as real as this feels, he is too afraid to _kill_ that doubt. Too afraid to reach out for the potential _nothing_. To this, the hold on Haruka's hand strengthens anyway, and _he_ looms over in heavy weight, boardwalk creaking under him as knees knock in closeness. Haruka still opts for blindness under the other boy's warmth.

"Please." Haruka mutters. He doesn't even know what he's pleading for anymore. He's not sure what to believe. He would never plead for anything or anyone else but _him,_ but it can't be,  _it can't be_ —

The next kiss comes more desperately this time on both of their parts, like they've waited an eternity and five more to do this. With his eyes still closed, the phantom's hand glides up Haruka's face and swipes a thumb across his tear-stained cheek, breath heavy and nervous like _his_ would be at times like this.

"Haru." He repeats the name again in parting. Foreheads still stay pressed together, but Haruka shakes his head and lets himself cry, hiccups interrupting hard-fought exhales. He holds onto the other boy's wrists and lets his hands cup his heated face.

"I'm sorry, Haru." There it is. The apology. The call of a name that _always_ seems to follow it.

Haruka just refuses the words. "No—you're always..." _Always sorry. Sorry for things you have no control over._  

"But I have to be, this time."

"Just—"

"Because I've made you wait a long time, haven't I?"

"I..." Haruka can't finish, mind still racing in a cluttered, clamoring mess. "No—"

"Haru." His voice is soft, but not weak. Held together for the both of them. 

Haruka leans in and lets the boy lay a kiss on his forehead like he used to do, all those years ago. He even brushes away his bangs with that gentle, wispy swish.

"How long have you waited, Haru?"

In times like this, Haruka should tell himself that he's too old to be kissed like this, that it's four-hundred and fifty years too late to feel this way, but he lets the pulsing beat in his chest do the talking. He lets it run off, faster and faster, like it actually has somewhere to go and someone to greet.

"I don't care about that," that petulant child in him urges, whole body shaking in momentum he never meant to build. "I don't."

_'Because I could wait another million years if I had to.'_

"Then...? What's wrong?"

Their silence swims in something heavy, slightly more uncomfortable than usual, but it's not completely lost to their anxieties. There's still a film of familiar calmness, like a walk along the beach sunset, step by step, eerily in sync despite the things unsaid.

"I'm not sure that you're real." Haruka admits. A beat of stillness comes again afterwards, and Haruka expects the illusion to vanish right at that second, in _goodbye forever_ , but his touch never, ever lightens in disappearing. It is trembling in that honest way, scared to hold but kept in place all the same. 

"Well, that's the other thing I have to be sorry about, Haru." He finally says.

"So you're _not_ real, then." Haruka chokes out. "This can't be happening, you can't be—"

"But it is. This _is_ happening, Haru."

"Then why are you sorry?" Haruka feels his voice rise in that instance, his frustrations coming to a head, but he doesn't want to sound angry, because he _isn't,_ not in the slightest bit. Not at the gods, or the stars, or time itself, and never at _him_ —he just can't shake the worry in his bones, the feeling that this will all crumble under him.

He squeezes his eyes shut when they start to peek open in weakness, ignoring the ache from the continued strain. 

"Because I can't stay with you yet." Makoto answers him. "I haven't figured out a way to keep myself here for long."

Haruka shakes his head again. He lets _Makoto_ or _whatever illusion this is_ kiss him right under blistered eyes, one hand gripped on the bench and the other still holding onto Haruka's face like porcelain.

"I'm real, Haru. Just not in the way I want to be...not in a way where we can be together yet."

Haruka nods like he actually understands, but he's still too overwhelmed to gauge anything about this mess. He lets a migraine rip through his racing mind, _real, not real, real, not real_ , and soon the vision of blue petals and lit up sparklers flies by at a billion miles a second. _This has to be Makoto_ , he thinks, seeing stars as he feels the other boy reach for another kiss, _but it can't be, either._

 ** _you've forgotten me, you've forgotten me not_**  

A sigh emerges from the end of their next kiss. The touch of his hand lifts off his face until it's nothing, because time is fleeting and the dimensions are fickle.

**_you love me, you love me not_ **

"Don't go." Haruka gives in. "Don't..." 

"I'm already...fading again." 

_'Again? You've been here before?'_

_'You've really come to see me?'_  

"Makoto _._ " Haruka feels himself break under the strain. " _Makoto._ " 

"But...I'll keep trying." Makoto tells him. The boardwalk creaks under him and his voice sounds further away, like someone already lost to gravity's pull.

"Because I have promises to keep. Because it's you."

"Wait—" Haruka knows he's slipping away. "Wait, _Makoto_ —"

"I'll come back, Haru."

" _Makoto_!" Haruka cries.

“I will always come back to you.” His voice washes out against the roar of sudden waves. Townsfolk howl about the immensity of falling stars and their all-encompassing splendor.

Haruka feels himself reach out in darkness and lets eyes fly open. The blaze of a bonfire rises up into the night and Haruka watches as patches of starlight go out one by one, fading out like a stadium in day's closing. Undeterred, the townsfolk keep at their hopeful calls anyway, dancing for another round of falling cosmos, trudging against the waters to sift through the star's residue. Makoto is nowhere amongst the liveliness—on the sands, on the shore, on the boardwalk, or in Haruka's sights.

 

☆

 

Granny sets down her basket of flowers, pats Haruka on the head, and hugs him close, her frail little body holding up what's left of him. He hasn't moved for hours from the bench, whole body numb from the momentous awakening and subsequent loss of the past couple of minutes.

"It's okay, little blue." She tells him in a singsong fashion. The smell of her perfume mixes in with the smell of a dying bonfire, making Haruka queasier than he has to be, but he just accepts her embrace with nothing to offer her but his quiet cry. No one bothers the blue-eyed boy and his grandmother on the boardwalk, and they all float on as light as fireflies.

"You know, _little sun_ isn't so small anymore." She chuckles, getting teary herself. "I'm glad you two have grown up so well." 

The weight in Haruka's chest presses him down further into the depths, but the lightness in his head wants to pull him up past these detriments.

"You...saw him, too?" Haruka dares to ask her next, still plenty choked up, whole body in disarray. "Here?" 

_With me?_

"Oh, of course." Granny giggles through shakiness. "How could I miss someone so bright?" 

Haruka doesn't lift his head off her shoulder, but his breath sputters at her assertions. He catches bits and pieces of air, letting himself edge out the last of his tears only to find more. Granny cries with him, because they both know how long he's waited, and how long he might have to wait again.

"It's okay." Granny tells him. "It really is."

"You really saw him?" Haruka asks again, because he has to make sure.

"Yes. He's real."

"Yeah?" 

"Yes."

Haruka doesn't say anything else and lets himself stay like this a little longer. The night wears on around them, gentle and aided by a town's emerging light, still dark by all means, but looking to find a new day on the horizon.

"Have a little hope, Haruka." Granny whispers. "Because he's on his way to you."

 

☆

 

**Candidate #2!938@ _ERROR574839;_**

Name: Tachibana Makoto

Other Aliases: _?????_

Status: Collected, Erratic Transmission, Repeated Transfer

Occupation: Vagrant

Birth Season: Scorpio

TID (Time in Dimension): 11 minutes

 

Notes and Observations: Still having trouble processing him into the dimension, but gods have supplied us with basic information for his citizen profile. Staff still skeptical of his status as the infamous star thief, _son of suns,_ so aliases remains unconfirmed. 

Reappearances coincide with lakeside meteor showers and star-filled skies. Further review needed for fireflies and the _bluebird blossoms._

 

☆

 

Lovelocks don't exist in this place, but it won't stop Haruka from making them, anyway. Standing at the edge of the town's pier, his small sailboat waiting on the docks below, he writes his and Makoto's names on the chrome body, and crouches down to click it into place on the fence. 

Haruka groans when he gets back up and leans over the railing in all-encompassing weakness; he hasn't been sleeping well lately, even in the fields, and lack of inspiration has impeded any sort of painting. More tired than anything, Haruka sighs in frustration and makes a small prayer to stop feeling this way. 

Achy and listless, yet with heart constantly thumping in anxiety—maybe this is what the waiting game does to him.

He's not even sure if there’s anyone _to_ wait for sometimes.

Under the dense violet sky, the moon is just a sliver today, but the fence's wrapped string lights are more than enough illumination. And slowly, because the world thinks Haruka might need a little more, tiny stars burst into the sky, gleaming and impossible. Soon, a whole universe of them blooms again, in towering nebulas and whole galaxy's quadrants, as if to say, in its dazzling return—

"Hi, Haru."

His call is unadorned, _simple,_ but it catches Haruka's attention more than anything. 

Yet, he doesn't turn around. Haruka just holds a hand out, a sure signal to grab it, while gulping down his nervousness with his face on the fence. Makoto does just that—grab his hand—and a little more, hugging the other boy close from behind and breathing him in like he's the only air around. Haruka squirms under his touch, but lifts his head to allow Makoto to rest in the concave of his neck.

"I left too soon last time." Makoto says, his breathing already pained like the other world's already trying to take him back. 

Haruka nods at that sentiment, letting memory carry him away to last time. It had been Makoto's second appearance, barely a blur. Makoto was in the flower shop in the late afternoon, with his face hidden behind a real bloom of paper hydrangeas, and with hands held for a mere twelve seconds, _twelve measly_ beats of the heaviest silence, he had disappeared in a flash, leaving a flurry of fallen petals on his way out.

"It's okay." Haruka tells him, snapping back into clarity. 

"It's not, though." Makoto sighs. "This is not what I want at all."

"But...it's going to stay this way, isn't it?"

Makoto doesn't answer him right away and Haruka thinks of the things they can't have. Every conversation, even the simplest kind, could take centuries to conduct, stilted by the ebb and flow of departure. Longing would dance on through the eons, landing with a heavy foot at each stop but never finishing its performance. 

"It won't be forever, Haru—"

"Well—" _It's already been forever for me._ An unseen frown emerges. _It’s going to keep feeling like forever._

Haruka refrains himself from saying just that though, biting his tongue altogether, because he doesn't need Makoto feeling bad over things he can't control. He just tries to catch his breath against the fence, all to the littlest avail, before dedicating himself to continued silence. He feels bad for keeping it, especially at a time where every precious space and second should be filled, but it's not like they were ever built on the science of speaking anyway.

So Haruka peers down at the boats, letting Makoto breathe airy lullabies down his neck instead. 

"I've missed you more than anything, Haru." He speaks. He has always been more apt to break the saying, ‘ _silence is golden.’_ Makoto doesn't need the extra glitz anyway. He is not the gilded sort.

Haruka wrangles him closer behind him with the yank of embracing arms, legs almost tangling up in the process. In this dimension's ruthless winters, Makoto's body warmth feels like a homey quilt, and the enveloping thought of this just makes Haruka want to cry. Makoto's unabashed honesty makes him want to fall and never get back up.

"I've missed you, too," Haruka echoes, throwing his words out to the water without finding the strength to face him yet again—he's not actually sure when that will happen, _and he wants it to_ , because it's _him, Makoto,_ but he knows he's already aching too much right now to really try. 

Because just _how_ could he go on, only getting a few minutes with that face for years at a time?

Just _how_ would having this thin _veneer_ of him make waiting any less bearable? 

With all of these questions swirling around in Haruka's head, the other boy never dares to pry. Instead, Makoto just kisses Haruka behind the ear and leaves a _bluebird blossom_ tucked in his hair, all before saying his goodbyes and taking another unwanted leave of absence.

 

☆

 

"Be careful. Wouldn't want you falling."

"I won't." Haruka talks back.

"Oh, you say that." 

From the ladder, Haruka lifts the bundle of string lights up onto the roof, handing them to granny and heaving a breath of relief over a morning's worth of work. In irritation, he yanks out some weeds growing in the storm drains, letting them drop into the waste bin below, looking over at the tops of the houses and stores in the town. All over, people are erecting their own forms of light, passing string lights from rooftop to rooftop and raising new gas lamps. Granny notices him staring at these developments and chuckles a bit for him.

"This town is coming alive again." She ends in a sigh. "I'm glad."

"At least it's easier to _see_ now." Haruka sighs. 

" _Pleeease,_ there's no need to be so literal about things with me." Granny clicks her tongue. 

"I'm not wrong, though."

"But you forget about that _intangible_ quality the light brings. Like you could go on living forever."

"I guess." He is no mood for philosophical jargon today, but is content to humor whatever wisdom granny wants to deliver today. Before he can ask for more of her little asides, Haruka hears the bell ring from a rooftop in interruption. A small legion of paper lanterns float up into the darkened sky, all in varying hues of pastel pink and softened yellow, gold and silver, green and blue. They all carry different designs for the different hopes of the day, yearnings that have thus been unfulfilled.

Granny perks up even more and forgets about nagging Haruka. " _Oh_ , is it that time already?" She asks, half-gasping at the sights. Nodding, Haruka crouches down and lights his own lantern for flight.

He raises himself and kisses the flimsy paper material gently, hoping that this lantern will go where it needs to go. With a push upward into the starless expanse, Haruka watches his lamp make an attempt at soaring before ultimately floating with its natural ease.

On the paper, in the neatest handwriting Haruka could muster, Makoto's name has been written for this entire dimension to see. As his lantern rises up above all the others, he thinks, proudly, defiantly, that   _'you can thank him for all this light.'_

Because even if the stars don't come tonight either, even if they'll never arrive again, they should all know who Makoto is.

They should all know of the gifts he's given.

Of every light, lantern, and star—

— And that they're from someone they should never forget in a _million, million_ years.

 

☆

 

Haruka rolls over into warmth in the meadow, head tucking into the familiar bend of the resting boy's arm. Half asleep, he still finds his breath hitch over in surprise when Makoto pulls him closer in rest, seemingly comfortable despite the slight chill. Autumn's ginkgo leaves litter the fields with the sweet aroma of the _bluebird blossoms_ , creating beds of limitless afternoon comfort. 

"Haru." Makoto whispers sleepily, to let him know he's here. It's only been a year since the last visit this time, which has obviously been a pleasant surprise for Haruka. So with eyes still closed and convinced this is still a dream, Haruka doesn't feel like prying him for details of his newest foray here. He's content, for once, to lie here with Makoto like nothing's wrong.

"Do you have to go soon?" Haruka asks, as if he's just leaving for some groceries or a short walk back home. He pulls on the hem of Makoto's softened flannel, exhaling and sabotaging all of his own slight urges to cry over the thought of that. He reminds himself that he shouldn't, because he knows how fleeting these visits are in the first place, and that they should be taken in with all grace. Breathing in the smell of him and letting fingers come together in a solemn interlacing, Haruka tells himself to just appreciate him for the time being, however much of that they have left. Because no matter if it's mere seconds this time, Makoto is here and that's all that matters. 

It's funny, what decent moods can bring Haruka. Maybe he's just too sleepy to understand his usual miseries.

A sigh whittles into the sky as Makoto runs his fingers through Haruka's hair, placing kisses sweetly under his bangs. Haruka still keeps his eyes closed when the other boy brushes his lips against the softest part of his temple, just like how he used to do in Iwatobi. Haruka pictures that kind of scene for a moment, as if fallen leaves are undone sheets and Makoto could still be _the boy in his bed._ Using all the time in the world to take in each other.

"I'm sorry, Haru." Makoto tells him instead, because time is the last thing they have.

"Don't be," Haruka tells him. "There's always next time."

"Next time?" Makoto asks, ever unsure. 

"Next time." 

Haruka nods again in affirmation and lets himself drift off to the sound of his _I love you's,_ but by the time morning comes and the sky loses its stars, Makoto's gone from him, too.

 

☆

 

"Delivery for Nanase Haruka, delivery for Nanase Haruka!"

Peeking from behind his canvas, Haruka takes one look at his grandmother's newest errand boy, a cheeky fellow that looks too much like that light-haired boy from days long ago— _Kisumi_ incarnate is what he'd like to call him—and tries not to glower at him too much for his arrival. In his possession, he's holding a giant bouquet of flowers quickly tied together in metallic party streamer, barely arranged at all in haphazard fashion. 

"Granny's going to yell at you." Haruka puts down his paintbrush and lets it sit in a cup of water to soak. He gets up from his seat at his workspace and takes the bouquet into his hands, encompassing his bundling arms like a newborn. "Poor job."

The errand boy bows lightly. "Oh, _please_ don't tell her. She already pulled on my ear three times this morning for not watering the herbs!"

Haruka looks down at the tag, which hasn't been filled out by the sender.

"Who is this even from?" He asks.

"Ah!" The errand boy sticks a tongue out ever so slightly, although this is certainly no time for teasing. "Well you see, I can't tell you that. _Secret admirer confidentiality._ "

Haruka frowns at his blatant cheesiness. "There's...no such thing."

"Well, I still can't tell you." _Kisumi_ hums.

"I guess I'll have to tell granny about your _shoddy_ work, then."

The errand boy's mouth goes agape over the horror of the possibility and no more arguing comes after that. He just softens a little, honestly going _red_ , and rubs at the back of his head in thinking.

"A-ah, well...you see, I fear telling you might just _ruin_ the romantic notion of it all, and I would certainly _haaate_ to do that, you see—"

"Out with it." Haruka raises an impatient eyebrow. "Granny has ears to pull."

"Okay, _okay_!" He laughs, clearing his throat. "Well, it shouldn't come as a surprise, because _everyone_ knows about the weird _star_ boy that comes to visit you every couple of years, and _thiiiiis_ time he said he wanted to get you flowers, you see—" 

"Why was he talking to _you_ , of all people?" At this point, Haruka feels his own ears burn, despite the fact that it's been years since his grandmother's yanked on his lobes. He ignores the sensation and crosses his arms with flowers still in tow, blinking up in a strange mix of annoyance and curiosity. _Kisumi_ smiles way too brightly for someone who lives in perpetual darkness.

"Like I said, star boy wanted to get you flowers, and I just happened to be weeding out in the fields...oh, he was so desperate to get them to you in person, but he just didn't have the time...hence, my impromptu delivery."

Haruka hugs the bouquet closer and hides his face partially behind them. Redness has a funny way of spreading, even when _the errand boy_ is the last person he wants seeing.

"Ah."

"It was a sweet gesture. _Makoto_ and I had a fun time picking those flowers together, too."

With that, Haruka sends one more glare and chases the errand boy out of his studio, bouquet still in hand like a baseball bat. _Kisumi_ just runs down the cobblestones, on his way back to his delivery bike.

"Please don't tell granny!" He shouts over his shoulder.

With a scoff and a kick of the dirt, Haruka thinks, _'oh, I'm definitely going to tell granny.'_

 

☆

 

"How do you do it, Haru?"

"Do what?"

This time, Haruka's the one with his arms around Makoto, blanketing him with unnecessary heat under summer's oppressive swelter. Despite this, he clings on tighter against his back, pressing his face against the light sweat dabbing the cotton of Makoto's shirt. He's content to stay like this until his eventual departure, already drowsy from a full morning of painting on the lake.

"I know, Haru."

Haruka honestly doesn't understand what he means. Tracing nonsensically on his shoulder blades, gliding over muscles like traveling the desert dunes, he sighs and wonders why they can't just be content.

"Whenever I leave, it takes me just a couple of days to reach the stars again. I _mean_ , sometimes it's a little longer than that, like a week or something, but...that's still not too bad. It's not awful, compared to what _you're_ doing—" 

"It's not bad, for me either." Haruka gulps down the seething lump in his throat. 

"But, Haru...I know you don't wait the same amount I do...I see seasons change. I see this _town_ change around you every time I come back. That sort of thing takes a lot of time."

"And?"

"It's like...one of those weird sci-fi movies...where our times are never in sync."

"It's not like I'm going to go anywhere."

Haruka shakes his head against Makoto, signaling for him to _stop. It's fine, I don't mind waiting at all, not in the slightest bit—_  

"But you're not just...waiting days, are you?"

"I—"

But before Haruka can answer him, tell him that centuries are nothing the long run, the stars drop into the lake and bring up unexpected waves. Under the cool relief of rising mist, Makoto disappears under it and leaves Haruka to wade in the high tide by himself. He just curses under his breath, kicks the sand until his feet are buried under the sediments, and curses the hot impatience of the boiling summer. 

Because he swears he can wait.

Years, centuries, _eons_. 

No matter how much it hurts, he'll do it.

 

☆

 

Haruka receives flowers again, but this time they're tied with the utmost care. He notices the morning glories mixed in with the bouquet, and notes that flowers like this don't grow here in this dimension. When they ultimately wither and die two weeks later, Haruka saves the petals and makes them into paperbound bookmarks, sticking them in every book he's ever owned in the phantom dimension.

Reading one of those books in the blossom fields, Haruka watches a star traverse across the expanse.

Makoto doesn't make a landing this time either, but Haruka appreciates the sentiment. He hides his reddened face behind a bookmark and thinks of making more keepsakes.

 

☆

 

Of all the times Makoto has had to arrive, of course it'd be now.

"What happened?"

And of course he'd worry.

"Fell off a ladder." 

"You _what_?" 

"I was changing out some string lights. Granny asked me."

"You could've _died_."

"Well, I didn't." He's not even sure if people _can_ die here.

With little concern, Haruka shrugs it all off and itches at his sling, wishing he could just rip it off altogether. When he had fallen off the ladder a week ago, every part of him had hoped to land on his _non_ -painting arm, but as luck would have it, he had broken _just that_. (In two different places, nonetheless.) In the grand scheme of things, _of all his years here,_ wearing a cast for the next two months is nowhere near the end of the world, but it's _seriously annoying_ , and it messes with his painting commissions and personal projects. He can't even water the flowers for granny.

 _Annoying._ Makoto seems to feel otherwise about this.

"Please...be careful." Makoto says from behind him, hands perched on his shoulders in delicate massage. Haruka rolls his head back in a sigh as Makoto's arms slide down in a full-body embrace, as if to guard Haruka from everything awful.

"It's just a broken arm." Haruka reassures him. "Next time you see me, I won't even have it."

"That just worries me more, Haru." Makoto sighs. "All that... _time._ " 

Even if Haruka's never seen Makoto's face in this dimension, he's gotten good at reaching at the smoothest part of his cheek, running his palm against it in comfort and part time apology. _Sorry that we always have to be this way._  

_Sorry that I can't even face you._

"I will be." Haruka answers him. "More...careful."

"Promise?" Makoto chokes out. 

"I promise."

This is when Haruka remembers—every gash and cut, every sprained ankle, every headache and sick day here. They're such little things, all capable of healing and being forgotten, but he knows Makoto would never forget a single injury or hurt instance. Haruka thinks about the worry Makoto would carry with him to the other world then, and how he'll definitely do that this time around, too. 

In distant memory, a boy holds another in the safety of his bed after almost drowning.

 _"I don't want to lose you, Haru."_  

 _"You won't."_ Haruka had told him then, in a blatant lie. _"I'm here."_

In guilt of his own, Haruka closes his eyes and lets Makoto kiss him for the first time in twenty years. Makoto leans down and supports all of Haruka against him, clinging onto him tighter with every press of their lips. They stay like this for as long as he can, so Makoto can take in all things good and warm before leaving. Haruka thinks about how much the feel of this kiss will ache later, that this is the reason why people long so much after leaving, and that he'll accept it all anyway. 

"Makoto." Haruka lets himself whisper, completely weak to him, no matter how many years have passed. No matter how many more will come and go. 

"Haru." Makoto laughs even though he's about to cry, in that terrible little broken way, but this time, neither one of them do.

"Until next time?" Haruka lets himself ask, constant fear slipping out too. 

"Yeah." Makoto says, leaving with another kiss for the road. "Of course."

Makoto fades away soon after that, and Haruka still doesn't cry, but it doesn't mean that this hurts any less this time around.

 

☆

 

 _The next time around_ shows no signs of coming, and Haruka goes the next one hundred years without seeing Makoto. In that same year, in the middle of one of his countless winters here in phantom dimension, he also gets to see his first ever snowfall, quiet and focused on blanketing this strange little earth. Haruka stains the snow with his footprints, wandering aimlessly with fingers frozen in his pockets. 

Finding himself a set of stone steps in the emptier part of the neighborhood, with no one in sight except for the occasional stray cat and the bypassing stranger, Haruka makes himself comfortable on the first step and looks over at the developing city. Yellow light surpasses the fuzzy reception of snowfall, warming houses and supporting their nightly celebrations. Haruka stares down at his own watch, realizes that it's almost time, and closes his eyes to make an unspoken wish. With seconds to go, the end of this one-hundredth year awaits.

 

 _Five!_ _Four!_ _Three!_ _Two!_ _One!_

_Happy New Year!_

 

Liveliness echoes from inside huddled households, cheers mixed in with the sound of party poppers and clinking glass.

"Happy new year, Makoto." Haruka smiles out at the town his light rebuilt, counting every makeshift star he sees in each illuminated windowpane. He lets the beam disappear off his face when he brushes the snow off of his face, remembering that he once did the same for Makoto forever ago. He thinks of the stairs connecting their houses and the half-lit sparklers keeping them warm, the kisses shared without words. _What a fleeting moment that was,_ Haruka thinks in the long scheme of things, but it had been theirs without contest, without the threat of disappearance. 

Well, _no_. That’s not right either.

Haruka almost wants to laugh when he’s reminded of it: throughout this stretch of time and space, throughout their time as _little blue and little sun_ , as _Haruka and Makoto,_ both of them have been disappearing from each other, over and over, without hesitation or reprieve from the heavens above. 

“Come back soon,” he says to the sky, blinking away the snow in his lashes.

He just hopes, with everything he has, that they have the strength to keep coming back, even when the going gets tough.

And with this, Haruka starts his one hundred and first year without Makoto.

 

☆

 

“How long has it been since you’ve last seen him?” Granny asks, putting out dinner for Haruka and the errand boy. Today’s catch of the day is gold-scaled haddock, a sort of fish nurtured by the bed of starlight at the bottom of the lake. The errand boy digs in without hesitation while Haruka stares on, counting up the decades for an answer. 

“Almost two hundred.” Haruka decides, whether or not this number's completely accurate or not. 

“ _Days?”_ The errand boy asks incredulously, almost choking on a bone. 

"No." 

"...Months?"

“ _Years_ , honey.” Granny rolls her eyes and offers Haruka some mackerel stew instead from her side of the table, since it’s been hard for him to really muster an appetite for anything else. She sneaks a smile for her grandson and lets silence fill the room. The light bulb of their overhead lamp flickers strangely above them, much in the same way the whole town’s been doing since the arrival of its light.

Again, the errand boy has trouble keeping his dinner down. “I _really_ don’t get how you’ve waited so long, little blue,” he remarks, but Haruka just shrugs like he's got the resilience for it.

“It’s...fine.” Haruka still doesn't feel like eating, so he ends up pushing his plate away altogether. Feeling his stomach lurch into the usual cramping sensation, he slumps in his chair before deciding to get up altogether. Lately, he's been feeling more restless than anything, with feet itching to run. In his dreams at night, the ancient life makes itself known, trembling hands reaching up into the sky. Motion is what keeps him together. It mitigates his anxious heart. 

"I'll be back." He finds his jacket on the hook and slips it on. 

"Where are you going?" Granny asks. "Your food will get cold."

"Air." Haruka nods a little, in reassurance that he'll be back sooner rather than later, and dashes down the lamp shop stairs. Making his way past the glowing lamps and nearly tripping over an endless coil of string lights, he leaves the safety of the shop and finds himself in the usual night. 

Despite centuries without stars, the bonfires still soar into the night and children play with their sparklers on the shore. Running down the boardwalk, he lets the visions of light blur and blaze in his peripherals, knowing that this sort of light is not the passing kind. In a dimension so usually dark, it has been blessed with something it can never give back. _Something unbreakable._

Haruka runs and runs and _runs._ He hates how much this place reminds him of Makoto, now.

He hates that he can't have him here with it.

"Look! They're back!" A child shouts, with her hand still clasped to another's. Haruka yanks his gaze up, keeping his feet moving. Light catches in his tired eyes. 

The stars appear, twinkling manically as if to say, _I don't have a lot of time here._

_We need to hurry._

 "Makoto."

The beat of it almost blinds Haruka, but he keeps running. Up the cobblestone, he searches frantically for any sign of Makoto, who's _here. He has to be here._ His gaze darts up to the sky frantically to make sure Haruka hasn't missed him. His heart leaps up his throat when some begin to fall out of place, wilting from the night altogether. Into the lake, they make a splash and dampen his hopes, but he keeps himself running. Running despite the sky's dimmed patches. Running to the tune of _a kiss for every star,_ because they can't fade out before Haruka has a chance to see him.

"Makoto!" His voice ekes out like an animal's. This is what two hundred years will do to him. Hoping, hunting, but still harrowed. "Makoto!" He screams out into the night until every star has faded or fallen out of orbit.

Haruka trips over himself on the street with the last star. Shaking, system still in frenetic motion, he has to clench his fists to keep himself from breaking down into nothing. He breathes hard into the concrete, punching the pavement hard when he spots a single star sticker stuck to it, endlessly taunting.

 

☆

 

"Do people die in this dimension?" Haruka asks granny one spring day, painting over the chipped brick with a new white coat. He thinks the flower shop could do with a different color after all of these years, but granny always insists on this shade because it reminds her of the winter's moon. She's busy planting blossom seeds into the window boxes, neatly tucking them into holes in the dirt for safekeeping so they'll grow for another day.

Granny blinks up at Haruka, delightfully surprised at the question.

"Why, of course. I'm rather close, don't you think?"

Haruka frowns at her morbid sense of humor, until he realizes that she isn't kidding.

"Don't say that."

"My sweet boy...everyone dies, you know." Granny doesn't cease in her sowing. "It just takes us a lot longer here." The smile never leaves her face. 

Letting the brush slip out of his hands, Haruka feels it dive into the can below and stain his pants legs with paint. He barely notices though, on account of other matters at hand. In sudden memory, he feels himself slip away from Makoto like that day. He thinks of his frail grandmother, still collecting flowers like a perpetual girl at heart. 

He thinks of Makoto, lying somewhere, still as still can get, because something terrible has happened to him on the other side. There's blood mixed with little gold stars, because even they die out, too. Maybe that's why he hasn't been here in two hundred and seventy five years.

"Little blue, are you okay?" 

Death is not something Haruka usually thinks about, because everything feels like forever here, whether he's liked it or not, but when he does, it's lacerating. It cuts him to the core.

Because it means leaving, without getting to come back at all.

"Yeah." Haruka lies through his teeth, putting on the faintest facade of a smile. 

Maybe he's just getting tired of the departures.

 

☆

 

The three-hundredth year approaches with the building of the dimension’s first and only Ferris wheel, created to celebrate and call for the elusive stars. Haruka sets off on the lake on the night of its unveiling, uninterested in the clamoring of the town's exuberant crowds, and whether or not he wants to admit it, the view of its new light will be much, much better on the lake anyway. So he lets the wind sails carry him off into the evening, breeze streaming through his hollow bones, and watches the glowing web rise up over the townhouses. It begins to make its rotations not long after that, spinning slowly but surely for the world to see.

Fireworks burst up in the sky and Haruka flinches at the sight of them, but he settles down when he realizes how small and dim they seem. Watching the rest of the show, Haruka lets his eyes glaze over, find rest on the black lacquer of water, and close altogether.

"I miss you." Haruka admits under his breath, even if no one is here to hear him say it.

He finds himself drawing his knees close to his chest, a dry tremor rising up in his throat and ringing his ears. After two hundred years, _even more_ since his arrival here in this dimension, he tells himself that he shouldn't be crying anymore. He tells himself to stop making excuses, _I just want to paint alone on my boat,_ to steal away his tears. _Because there should be none._ Feeling the deck shake under him, he breathes in, fights against the gale of his sighs, and falls down in spite of his battles.

"I miss you." He repeats, as if it'll hurt any less with the thousandth private utterance. 

Under closed eyes, Haruka paints a picture of Makoto and him together. Most of the time, he conjures up a memory to illustrate, like the two of them sharing an ice pop, or kissing on the back deck of his house in Iwatobi. Sometimes, there's laughter over things he can't remember, and sometimes they're just staring, blue on green with the rest of the world at their feet.

Today, Haruka lets himself draw all of it together in a mind's mural, but the color of it still stings like no other.

"I miss you, Makoto." 

After three hundred years, this is just the simple fact. No time alone and no attempts to paint over it will change that.

 

☆

 

**Candidate #2!938@ _ERROR574839;ERROR_**

Name: Tachibana Makoto

Other Aliases: _The Son of Suns, Little Sun_

Status: ~~Collected~~ , **Lost in Transfer**

Occupation: Vagrant

Birth Season: Scorpio

TID (Time in Dimension): **ERROR** , **NO TIME FOUND**

 

Notes and Observations:  Has not appeared significantly in the last three hundred years.

Reappearances correlate directly with meteor showers and reforming of constellations.

**Please inform higher officials if stars are seen—Tachibana Makoto will not be far behind them.**

 

☆☆

 

On Haruka's umpteenth birthday, the dimension has been rather quiet, dimly lit to the point of near darkness. Over the boardwalk's townhouses, even the Ferris wheel looms in the shadows, creaking in age with its first occurrence of rust.

Letting his gaze loom back to the ground, dawdling his feet over the bench where he first kissed Makoto in this dimension, Haruka takes in the stillness like a tiny blessing and lies back against the window pane. He closes his eyes, ready to sleep this day away, before feeling a set of small hands slide over his. He tries not to react to it all, but he can't help but redden at the reflexive hitch in his breath. Granny laughs at him, voice still hoarse from a cold she hasn't been able to shake, and sets down her basket of flowers at their feet. 

"Happy birthday, little blue." she tells him, with a kiss on his cheek.

Through the darkness, Haruka makes sure that she can see his smile. It is small and just a tad forced, barely existing like granny's lantern light, but it is there all the same. 

"Were you thinking about him again?" Through the ages, granny's asked this question over and over again, and it's come to a point where she knows not to expect a response. Haruka stares down at his shoes again, always feeling a little achier on his birthday, and laces his own fingers together on his lap. His smile fades off his face, even when he doesn't mean for it to. 

This itself should be enough of an answer for granny. She brings him into a hug and mats down the back of Haruka's head lightly before releasing him.

"Let's go." She prods gently, bending down to reclaim her basket.

Haruka perks up slightly. "Where?"

"I have a little surprise for you."

Shaking his head, Haruka frowns a bit. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore." He says. It's been getting harder for granny to move around, her cane leaned on more heavily in this past century or so, and he didn't really expect her to celebrate this year.

"Oh, you know I'll never stop spoiling you."

Granny takes Haruka's hand, young holding desperately onto old, and lets her lead him through the darkness. 

"Will you close your eyes for me, little blue?" she asks next. Haruka nods and does what he's told. In the quiet of all his senses, he hears the giggling of children and the subsequent hushes. The Ferris wheel rumbles in heard rotation, creaking but still spinning towards the top of the sky. Down the boardwalk, Haruka nearly trips over the loose wooden planks, but manages to keep his balance without falling prey to gravity.

"Where are we going?" Haruka asks, when she speeds up her pace. By the railing, he hears matches strike. He smells gunpowder without the crash of fireworks. More laughter, hushed at once, catches in the air.

"You can be horribly impatient sometimes." Granny jokes. "You'll see."

Hand in hand, the two of them continue down the path while the old woman hums her favorite song. They make a short turn to the right and Haruka feels the boardwalk slant downward onto the shore, where the waves catch at his feet and tickle his ankles. She sings with every step forward in the sand, onward and in-tune until she finds the right place to stop. 

"Here we are." She singsongs. 

Letting her hymns trail off into nothing, granny lets go of Haruka's hand and leaves him stranded, leaving one more firm press of the shoulder as if to say, _'just hold on.'_

_'You won't be in the dark for much longer.'_

So Haruka waits in full faith under closed eyes. The aroma of the _bluebird blossoms_ catches in his nose, sweet, but not overbearingly so like his past self once thought. The boardwalk has come alive again behind him, ready to resume life in the phantom dimension, under the sort of steady light that could fuel whole worlds.

Haruka makes a small resolution in that moment. He tells himself he needs to join in it, too. 

To make this place even better, for when he returns.

Well—

 _If_ he returns.

 

**_you've forgotten me, you've forgotten me not_ **

 

Muffled laughter emerges from under the waves, not clear enough to distinguish. Judging by the sound of light splashing, Haruka realizes someone else is wading in the water with him.

"Grandmother?" he calls out. There's no answer. 

Haruka still keeps his eyes closed. The other person, _surely not a phantom,_ is soundless but there all the same, his familiar presence felt beyond centuries and the end of eras—like a soft sun that doesn't mean to burn anyone in its brightness. And when Haruka finds himself drawn to it, he feels like fainting right on the spot, legs almost collapsing under him—but he doesn't let this happen, _because even if he doesn't want to admit it_ , he has waited too long for this moment. He's not even sure what this moment will even mean, but he can almost see the stars form under his eyelids, blinking to the urges of his halted heart, telling him that only good things are abound. He nearly trips over from the thought of it, foot caught in the sand, but he doesn't end up falling. _He_ catches him, finds Haruka like he always has, and keeps him safe from harm. 

" _Haru_." He calls out in concern and complete relief. Haruka just feels like dying right then and there.

Hands find a way to be held, coming together even after all of these years. In between Haruka and Makoto's palms, two unlit sparklers cross at the wicks, ready for their sparks to bloom for the night.

"Is this—"

"It's not." He finishes for him. "It's not a dream."

Much to Haruka's horror, Makoto unfurls his grip from his in that moment, leaving one sparkler in his possession. Haruka squeezes his eyes even tighter because _he's disappearing again, he has to be,_ and it's going to kill him all over again so he won't _dare_ to look, but this time, there's none of that. No—Makoto just retakes Haruka's hand and cups it to keep the sparkler in his trembling grip. 

"You're shaking badly, Haru."

A frown emerges under blindness. "It's because _you're_ here."

"Fair point." Makoto laughs and the sound of a struck match fills the air for a second, followed by the sizzle of a sparkler's initiated flare. "There we go," He says with a sigh. 

Haruka feels the heat curve up his wrist and the side of his hand, but he doesn't wince at the falling embers. As much as he's wanted Makoto here more than anything, Haruka wonders if he'll even outlast the sparklers he's brought today. Swallowing down a giant gulp of air, he shakes his head at this cruel sort of thought, regretting that they're never very far off in the first place, and tries to be content with whatever time they can muster in this instance. But still, no matter how hard Haruka tries, he ends up breaking anyway. Because he's _waited_ and _waited_ and _waited_ , through seasons and centuries, and everything in between—

"I'm sorry." Makoto says. "Haru, I'm so sorry—" 

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" Haruka chokes out.

"No, Haru, would you just...please look at me."

" _Why_?" Haruka barely finds the strength to say, "When you're just going to disappear—"

"But I'm not!" Makoto raises his voice over the waves, more anxious than anything. Silence strikes the both of them for a moment, leaving them both heavy breathed and full of trembles. Haruka _really_ feels like dying by this time, over the singe of the sparkler in his hand, over the rapid, relentless beating in his chest. He can't even find the right things to say without getting his tongue tangled in a horrible mess. His voice refuses to muster itself.

" _Makoto._ " Haruka finally says, broken beyond repair. Like the simple utterance of his name is an admission in itself.

 _'Makoto.'_  

_'I'm tired, Makoto.'_

Because Haruka has had the seasons in all of their forms and felt the wind through every atom of his being. He has felt longing from his head to his toes, on rooftops and in flowering meadows. He has ached at sea, and he has ached on this shore.

He just cannot take any more disappointments. He cannot take the idea of them not being together.

"I'm here, Haru." Makoto answers him with soft reassurance. In secret, his voice hopes to be heard, begging, _"Please face me again,"_ fully honest after years of interrupted conversations and unfinished sentiments. It cracks when Makoto repeats the words in mumbling, because it seems like he can hardly believe it himself. _I'm here, Haru. I'm here, Haru. I'm here, Haru._

_'Let's be together.'_

_'Please face me again.'_

And so, with all the courage he has left, that is what Haruka does. He opens his eyes to the universe before him, seeing the stars in clarity for the first time. Breathless over the wonder of it all, he watches meteors chase each other across the jeweled expanse while others hang lazily around the sleeping moon. Whole clusters sparkle, glittering when Haruka lays his sights on them, and flitter away shyly when he darts his attention away. It is all magnificent and terrifying in one instant, because it is as new as _new_ can get, but comforting in the other—because he doesn't expect anything less from Makoto. He will love any star he brings, and he will love any light he makes.

Haruka peers down at the gold-reflected water, at the expanded lake that might as well be a sea, and gazes over at their makeshift stars. Sparklers have faded to half of their lifespans, and for once, this doesn't feel like finality. 

"Haru." The voice calls him from a distant universe, but Makoto's just a few steps ahead.

Haruka thinks about how he wants to hear his name spoken forever, to the end of this dimension, to the next world, and all the way back—a billion times over. He wants to _be_ with Makoto a billion times over, no matter what might mean going forward. Whether he's here for the next five minutes or five millennia, Haruka will cherish him until the end of their times and collect every millisecond they'll spend together.

And so, with this one last affirmation for himself, to keep Makoto in sound and sight and heart, Haruka finally lets himself look up at him for the first time in centuries. In that same instance their eyes meet, the sparklers go out, but it doesn't matter when Makoto's the brightest thing he's ever, ever seen. It has all remained, but the view of him is more vivid than anything Haruka's ever colored in his head—his rosy, ruddy cheeks, that line of his smile, wide and stretching up like he's remembering every fortune he's ever come across, and his lowered green eyes, saved for these moments of perfect weakness. 

Dropping their sparklers onto the sand, the two of them come together and nearly collapse into each other in embrace, because the both of them are exhausted past the point of human limit.

"Do you remember that promise I made to you?" Makoto asks, with his head tucked away on Haruka's shoulder. 

Haruka nods, and bemused blue finds the will for levity. 

"You should start on that."

Makoto lets his smile waver for a moment when that fear creeps onto his face, _that he might be leaving again, that he won't get to keep his promises,_ but Haruka just shakes his head with a small, unexpected grin of his own. Because for all of their years together, Makoto has gotten scared too, and Haruka has pulled him out of that fear time and time again. This is no different, because regardless of whether Haruka has control of the stars anymore, he will always be Makoto's light. 

Haruka will be the first star Makoto points to, past all the skies and separating dimensions.

"A kiss for every star." Makoto says, like they're still both lying at that bottom of an empty pool or in a bed full of gold star stickers. He laughs, about to swoop in, when Haruka makes the move to kiss him first. Kissing is all they end up doing for the rest of the night, wrapped up in all the time in the world.

And thus begins the next one thousand years, before the rising of the first and only sun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for reading the penultimate chapter of this (super, super long) fic...I can certainly feel this coming to an end, and in many ways, you can see this as the last chapter. But I felt there were still other things about the _other_ world that I needed to wrap up, and I wanted time to explore on this idea: what can Makoto and Haru do with _forever_? How would they live it? So that's going to be the next chapter, which will tie everything together between the dimensions. (You are welcome to stop here though, ha-ha.)
> 
> Anyway, writing this has been such a joy. The feedback has been really, really phenomenal and I really can't express my gratitude enough. The kind comments have been astounding, and the encouragement has really kept me going this whole time. Also, i would just like to direct your attentions to all of the [**beautiful fic art**](http://companions.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-art) I've received thus far!! Some of it was on twitter, too, which I also want to give a shout out, too! Honestly I'm about to die in a puddle of my own tears...
> 
> (As per usual, you can find me on twitter at @asplendidmoon or companions.tumblr.com)
> 
> Until next time!


	14. haruka and makoto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _"Because when you love someone with all that you've got, you'll never hit the end."_
> 
> _"You'll go on, forever and ever."_  
> 

**Cat's Travel Blog, Post #5247: On the Disappearance of Stars**

Oh, heavens. It's been a while since I've updated, huh? In between my vacations and time settling the gods down, I've been terribly busy. I almost considered abandoning this blog altogether, but I figured it wouldn't be nice to leave you all hanging...so here am I am, floating through cyberspace. I _would_ talk about my new crop of candidates, but I know you're all here for other reasons.

Our two little lovebirds, nestled in the other dimension.

But first, I have been mandated to quell your fears. You've all seen the news. _The world loses its stars! Theories on sudden disappearance of the universe! The end of times—rapidly approaching!_ Well, rest assured, there is no reason for panic unless you're an avid stargazer. The sun still remains (much to a certain boy's request, because no one's looking to end the world anytime soon) and you can still see passing planets in the sky. You can even pretend the airplanes are stars, if you're desperate enough.

The questions remain, though.

  1.  _Where have the stars gone?_
  2. _Will they ever return?_



_Well_ —the following news might come as a revelation to you, if you are not one to believe fairy tales. As I've recently come to learn, the stars have been under the complete jurisdiction of a certain Tachibana Makoto, our _boy in the bed_.

Yes, that's right. The boy from that old folk legend. You might have seen the dog's recent interpretation of that in popular bookstores.

 _Honestly,_ though.

To think, I've been blogging about the notorious _son of suns_ for months now! The stars have waited and waited for him, for that precise moment Nanase Haruka and Tachibana Makoto to meet each other again in this world. They have waited for the right moment of their _separation_ , only to repeatedly glue them back together again! I am astounded. I am _confounded._ To have such powerful deities, only second to the gods above, at your side for all this time...it's simply a feat I cannot wrap my head around. I don't think I ever will.

Anyway, this goes back to my posed questions. For the first: the stars have followed Tachibana Makoto out of this dimension, resulting in our starless nights. After hiding him as the _son of suns_ all this time, the stars intentionally revealed his identity as the notorious little star thief.

And thus came his warning for personal rapture.

_If you are ever to lose the one you love, you'll disappear forever._

He disappeared instantaneously once I announced it. Too bad he couldn't make it stick for very long every time...oh, the times I've seen the boy cry every time he was brought back here. No family, no friends, no _little boy blue._ It was a miserable sight, even if we did get our stars back for the time being.

It was certainly a rough year for him.

 _Ah_ , well, I'm glad he's managed to cross dimensions for longer this time.

Here's hoping he's with Nanase Haruka.

Here's hoping they get the forever they're looking for.

 

★

 

No matter how many hours he's slept, sometimes will Haruka wake up like he still needs a million more. Sighing against his pillow, he exhales what's left of his heaviness and presses his head further down into the plush, temple still throbbing with something sore. When Haruka thinks of the way Makoto kisses it better, right on top of his cheekbone with the tiniest reserve, he rolls over and thinks about hinting at it _just_ this once—only to find vacancy on the other side of the bed.

Haruka opens his eyes and finds empty, wrinkled space. Running his hand over the bed sheets, he finds that they're still warm from _the boy in the bed._

"Makoto?" Haruka sits up and throws the covers off, peering around the dim-lit bedroom. Sheer panic turns the thump in his temple into a full-on beating, and accompanied with the tune of vicious ringing, Haruka can barely find the composure to throw on a jacket and put on his shoes to go find him. Because he has to be here. _He has to be._

"Makoto!" Haruka calls out again, to no one. The fear that _he's left again_ strikes deep, past any urge to regain his senses. He nearly crashes down the stairs and into some of granny's oversized flower pots on his way out the door of the shop, staring up and down frantically on the boardwalk. Fireflies float lazily in the summer air while children play with sparklers in the early morning before school, with no sign of Makoto anywhere. Haruka breathes deep, leaning down against the boardwalk railing, past all of his inclinations to think _'goodbye'_ , and peers up hesitantly at the sky. He can't avoid its gaze forever.

Stars or no stars.

For better or for worse.

Haruka glances up in all fear, finding brilliance instead. Above him, the universe still hangs with burning will, flickering until finding constant light. Some stars dash across the blackened canvas while others find comfort in stillness. Haruka breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of this and stifles the hasty tugging in his chest.

_If the stars remain, Makoto remains, too._

This is what Haruka tells himself when he finds the other boy on the shore.

With feet in the waves, the silhouette of Makoto watches the first star crash into the lake. Haruka flinches at the sight, because that usually means _time is up, it's time for him to go,_ but there's a sense of peace in watching Makoto this time around, like he's saying, with head turned up at the sky, _'I'm still here.'_ With this, Haruka feels his heart simmer into something less uncomfortable, _more prepared_ , as he settles himself down against the railing. Because whether or not Makoto is about to disappear this morning, Haruka tells himself that he can find a sort of calm, too.

 _Because even if they are ever apart, they will return to each other._ This is the second thing Haruka tells himself.

Stars continue to drop, splitting at the seams to fall like hail. Haruka ignores the sight of it and climbs down the boardwalk ladder to meet Makoto, but he's so transfixed at the sight that he almost misses him.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out, snapping him out of his haze.

"Ah, good morning, Haru." Makoto greets him with a smile, hands immediately held. Haruka stares down at the way their fingers lace together so easily, holds on harder, and ultimately lets natural lightness take over his grip. He tells himself there's no need to be so desperate about things.

"You couldn't sleep?" Haruka asks.

Makoto shakes his head and stares back up. The stars haven't stopped falling, but he's still here nonetheless.

"I was sleeping just fine actually, but I couldn't ignore them."

"Who?"

"The stars."

Frowning just a bit, Haruka asks, "At this hour?"

Makoto nods. With that wordless answer, Makoto claps his hands together with a small thud and embarks on the smallest prayer, mouthing _thank you's_ with closed eyes.

"I figured I should meet them, to pay my respects."

Haruka takes the time to observe the showers himself. He notices that more are falling than usual—more than the times Makoto only stayed here for seconds or minutes at a time—and that this must be the occurrence of something extraordinary. Haruka feels a long-forgotten, but familiar pang in the pit of his stomach, because he forgets he used to talk to stars, too, and that them falling from the sky means their untimely ends.

"Why are so many of them..." Haruka doesn't want to say the word. _Dying,_ because that's not what it feels like, exactly. Stars go out in supernovas, whether in cataclysm or compacted, traveling forms like this, as if life still resides in the very act of them expiring. _Dying_ is surely the wrong word for this.

"Falling?" Makoto finishes for him.

Haruka nods and inches himself closer to Makoto on the beach, as if he needs the comfort. With closer glances, it seems that he really might need it, given the glassy green in his eyes and how badly his hands tremble in his grip.

"To keep me here." Makoto answers quietly. "For longer."

"Longer?"

Makoto's sight follows the newest stream of star fall with unease, shuddering when the newest line of them drops, synchronized, into the water. People have started to clamor onto the beach for this newest star show, a morning delight for everyone in this dimension, but Makoto and Haruka know to be more solemn about this. The stars falling aren’t just some light show; it may not be death, and it may not be life, but there's sacrifice involved. With _sacrifice,_ Haruka thinks of the things given up, the hard times in this world and the last, and knows that Makoto feels the same. _Of course_ he does.

They've both _given_ and _given_ and _given._

"The stars...called it an elegant solution. Increase star power to let me stay here longer." Makoto gulps down something sore and stares down at the sand before looking back at Haruka. A crinkle of a smile forms in his eyes, all for his _little boy blue_ , and he keeps it there before offering his apologies back up at the sky.

"But you didn't want them to fade out for you." Haruka guesses.

Makoto's face sinks as a whole next, upheaved with a sigh.

"At first, they said we'd be using the stars that were growing old anyway. Even _that_ made me uncomfortable." Makoto tells him. "It's a strange thought, arguing with the stars like that, but it's the thing we probably disagreed on most."

Despite the feint of his newest smile, Makoto looks like he's falling, too. All without the actual descent.

"But...they want everything for us, Haru." Makoto continues. "Even if it means letting more stars fall."

Haruka sighs and lets go of Makoto's hand for the time being. He crouches down and collects the gold dust forming the waves, picking it up with cupped and careful hands.

"But we're both from here."

Makoto finds the will to laugh. " _Little boy blue._ "

" _Son of suns_." Haruka continues for him, thinking about how they first met on this beach. "Why do the stars need to sacrifice anything, if you're supposed to fit right in?"

"Because I don't anymore."

Haruka still doesn't understand, and his face shows it.

"It's...hard to explain. I think it's like...I've had the stars in my blood for so long, that it's _changed_ things up?" Makoto holds a hand to his heart as Haruka watches from the waves, water lapping up at his knees. "In short," he goes on, "I don't belong here."

Haruka remembers pleading in the fields for the stars to help Makoto long ago, in a time before their last existence together. He remembers how Makoto grew up just fine in the dimension after that, with no problems concerning _disappearing._

"I guess it really settled in my system after we left this place the first time." Makoto looks over his shoulder at boardwalk, at the ever-inviting light of the place. "I don't know for sure."

"I see."

"It's all very confusing, isn't it?"

"Just a little." Haruka answers him in all honesty, because he _has_ been more attuned to all things _otherworldly_. When he lets the water drain from his palm, all for the gold bits to remain on his skin. Getting up, goes back to Makoto, and finds his hand to hold again. Stardust nestles in between their palms, and Haruka could say they're finally getting to hold a sun between their hands.

"Thanks for being here, Haru."

When Makoto leans over to kiss him in further gratitude _,_ he parts with a soft, sad sort of smile, gracefully achy but hurting all the same. Haruka knows how hard it is for Makoto to lose people, to reluctantly cut his lost attachments, and that this, in some large cosmic sense, is the same sort of loss. Wondering just how many mornings Makoto's crept out here to the beach, Haruka just leans against him and stands with him this time, sure to stay for as long as he needs.

"After a while, when you stare out for too long, it feels like you're losing a whole galaxy at a time." Makoto observes. "They've done so much for me...I just feel like I'll never be able to pay them back."

"They don't expect anything, do they?"

"Not at all. That's the part I think about the most."

Haruka watches the stars that stay intact, perfectly dazzling without any hint of remorse or resentment. "Did they help you remember, too?" He asks rather shyly, tearing his sights away from the sky.

"They just help me get here." Makoto answers. "But I mean, I don't think I'll be forgetting any more things about you, since I'm here now." Again, his glances fall back on the looming townhouses behind them, at this limitless place.

"But...with that said, I don't remember everything, either."

Haruka ignores the sinking in his chest.

"It's okay," he barely edges out.

Makoto shakes his head. "I just wish I had a chance to get all my memories back...before coming here."

"I don't understand."

"I mean, it's not like I just randomly got my memories back." Makoto remarks. "I...never completely forgot. It was taking me longer to remember, but I'd always get to you, somehow."

Haruka feels something heavy unfold in his chest, blooming into a queasy lightness.

**_you've forgotten me, you've forgotten me not_ **

It's a relief he'll never have to play that game again.

"I wish..." Makoto trails off.

Haruka perks up at him, eyes burning and throat caught in something awful, but he swallows the feeling down immediately for the sake of strength.

"I wish I had more. _More of you,_ to remember _._ But...I guess I can't have everything, can I?"

 _Everything._ The moment Makoto says it, _everything,_ he bites his bottom lip and looks like he wants to take it back. Relenting, he pulls Haruka close to him by the side, like they're two planets bound by the irresistible pull—because that's what it's _always_ been, full of this sort of gravity. To this, Haruka just accepts Makoto wholeheartedly, letting an arm wrangle around his back and a kiss press itself against his forehead. Makoto whispers things Haruka can't hear, but just like reading lips, he can feel the maneuver of them against his skin. Because Makoto has whispered things like this before, sure and sweet and unspoken:

_"I'm wrong."_

_"I do have everything."_

_"You are my everything."_

And Haruka knows he's read him right. He doesn't say anything about it, though—he just presses the motions into his memory and watches the last star make its descent for the day, half-positive that this will result in another one of Makoto's disappearances. Mist rises in the oncoming wave, _the oncoming crash,_ but Makoto remains. The surviving tapestry of stars, woven in layer after layer, stays for the dimension to borrow another day.

"I have all the time in the world to find you again. I'll remember it all, one day."

Haruka likes the sound of this. He just hopes the stars will allow it.

 

★

 

_Haru._

_I know that voicemail doesn't exist in this dimension, and that you wouldn't be checking even if it did, but I'd like to carry on my tradition of leaving you little messages. Because even though it feels like I'm never gonna lose you again, I'd like to make sure you hear my voice across any sort of distance, in case either one of us gets lost along the way._

_You know, I didn't think writing love letters would be so fun, to be honest, but it's a lot easier when I think about all the ones I'm going to leave you. Ah...look at me. Love letters! I can't believe I actually wrote one today._

_Oh well. I guess I have years to stop being so embarrassed about things...or maybe not. You know I've been flustered about this stuff since forever, and I don't think that's going to stop anytime soon._

_Yikes. I'm blushing. Granny's laughing at me now and I don't want you to catch me, too._

_Until next time._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

Haruka's busy watering the garden boxes when Makoto hugs him from behind and nearly lifts him off the ground. A kiss places itself on the back of his neck with a gentle little laugh, completely fitting for the first day of spring and the coming of the _Aries_ constellation, and Makoto seems dead set on carrying on the levity of the season. He clasps his hands together over Haruka's stomach and maneuvers his head to the optimal point for a kiss on the cheek, which Haruka delivers with a barely-there peck.

"You're here early." Haruka goes back to watering the petunias for granny while Makoto rests his head against his shoulder. They have a date for a festival in in the middle of town tonight, but they had wanted to wait to walk there together. In celebration of the _Aries_ season, and another spring with stars, officials have promised fire eaters and an abundance of carnival games, but Haruka just thinks it'll be another crowded, noisy mess.

Still, Makoto seems excited about it, and it is his first spring here, so Haruka thinks he'll put up with it just this once. Seeing Makoto win a few goldfish certainly wouldn't hurt, either.

"Ah, yeah." Makoto gets a little shy. "The interview ended sooner than I expected."

"You got the job." Haruka says plainly.

"Aren't you a little too sure about that?"

"No." Haruka turns around and blinks up curiously at Makoto. "Because the job suits you, teaching and whatnot."

"I mean..." Makoto trails off, obviously embarrassed. "I wouldn't be a teacher _yet_. I think they start you off as an aide, and _theeen_ they give you a class, just to try you out—"

"You have all the time in the world. It'll happen." Haruka tells him, mimicking one of their first nights together in this dimension. Makoto shows him a cheeky smile, kisses him right on the forehead, and takes his hand. That grasp of his is still as deliberate as it's ever been, unconsciously cherishing in the simplest fashion.

"I hope so. I'm just not looking forward to all that training."

"That's true."

Haruka smiles just a bit, puts the watering can on the ground, and leads Makoto out the garden.

Overhead, the stars start to fall, burning out in droves behind the drifting clouds. They both pretend they don't see it happening and opt to meander out onto the boardwalk instead, close in orbit and steps light for the youth of a new night.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_We have all the stars in the universe..._

_Well, I mean, that's what they tell me._

_What do you think that means?_

_Do you think that means forever?_

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"It's not like this is our first time." Haruka frowns up at Makoto, hands clasped over his shoulders. At the end of their first year together in the phantom dimension, they've both gotten a bit _testy_ about things, and Haruka would like to think they've had enough time to ease into it all. Makoto digs in to kiss him again, softly before realizing how much he wants Haruka more for than the _brush of the lips,_ and breathes hard in reluctant parting. On the deepest part of the lake, and in the dead of a heated summer, Haruka thinks this is the perfect way to break in a new sailboat made for two, entangled and colliding at every instance.

"I mean, it might as well be." Makoto whispers. "For you, at least."

Haruka just arches up to initiate another kiss, hands pressed to Makoto's chest. Without any loss in skill, he fiddles with Makoto's dress shirt buttons with ease, all in an effort to get him as naked as he's already gotten his _little boy blue_.

"It's fine." Haruka whispers in his ear, _half-alive,_ hands infiltrating past the cloth and onto Makoto's skin.

"Haru."

With a sigh, Haruka presses himself closer to the curve of Makoto's ear, whispers something no one else can dare hear—not even the stars above, or the omnipresent gods—and watches Makoto unfurl without inhibition.

 

★

 

"Makoto."

"Yes, Haru?"

On the shore, their bonfire still burns bright. Overhead, meteors fall in their morning glory, signaling a rare night without sleep and their strange, subsequent lack of regret. Makoto still has lesson plans to write up, binders half-buried in the sand, and the canvases Haruka's supposed to be working on are still empty as empty can get, but the two of them will take their losses and aim for a new day. Behind them, the clock tower strikes four times for _four A.M._ , a cry to join the rest of the sleeping dimension, but Haruka thinks about how little they'll listen anyway.

His suspicions are proven correct when Makoto just smiles cleverly at the hour. In a slow, single motion, he looks back at Haruka with all the attention in the world, even though his eyes are dewy with the need for sleep.

"Do you know all of them?" Haruka asks, watching one star hit particularly close at their feet, dissipating into gold on the frothy waves.

Makoto looks up at the sky and shakes his head.

"No." He answers him. "But I wish I did."

"Then...how do you know which star to speak to?" Haruka asks him next.

"There's one that talks for all of them." Makoto muses, trying to find it on the horizon, but he can't, so he settles for for a more general gaze. "That first star." He turns to face Haruka, hands overlapping on the sand. "The one from the stories you tell me."

Haruka remembers the distinct glow of their first star, a brilliant gold with white hot brilliance at its core, bouncing all about in eternal spontaneity. When he can't quite recall the shape of it, how it looked on that first day on the shore, he conjures up a thousand different sparklers overlapping in unparalleled light.

"Have you spoken to it lately?" he asks next.

Makoto shakes his head. "I ask questions, and I get answers, but it's never that first star anymore. There's a bunch of different voices now, but not the one I recognize...not the one I spoke to in Iwatobi."

_'And not the one I spoke to here.'_

Haruka and Makoto go silent after that, in reverence over a star potentially lost forever.

"Maybe it's just hiding," Haruka says after a while, over the crackle of the fire and the rescinding waves.

"Let's hope." Makoto nods, although he still seems more uneasy than anything. "I'd really like to see it again."

To this, Haruka just leans against Makoto's shoulder and breathes a deep sigh. He lets himself peer up, his view partially obstructed by his best friend's looming form, and pretends not to see what's in front of him.

For there are definitely less stars in the sky tonight—even if it doesn't seem by much—and Haruka knows it will only get worse with passing time.

_I have all the time in the world to find you again_

"Are we going to run out?" Haruka asks.

Makoto stares up, knowing exactly what he means. For even if there's no pale light of morning here, one to show to the harsh truth of the day, it will be coming anyway.

"I don't know, Haru."

This question is something that will never escape the either of them. They look at the sky and see their limitations.

 

★

 

On their seventy-fifth year, Haruka weaves Makoto a flower crown and places it in the bed of his hair for safekeeping. Granny scolds Haruka for wasting good _bouquet_ supplies, compliments Makoto on the newest accessory, and calls her delivery boy to collect more flowers. Collective groans rise in the air from all parties, but Haruka can't complain about the levity (and the fact _Kisumi_ has to leave the two of them alone.) Haruka just goes back to watering the plants while Makoto reads on by the climbing ivy, at peace in his own pace.

Later, Makoto tries making one for Haruka, too. Its craftsmanship is nearly not as nice as the one before, with its droopy petals and strange flower to leaf ratio, but Haruka accepts it graciously and keeps it on the whole time in the fields.

"Happy seventy-fifth anniversary." Makoto says, gleaming with a kiss on the forehead.

Haruka doesn't have the heart to tell him that people only celebrate those by the hundreds here.

"Happy seventy-fifth." Haruka says, smiling.

He doesn't mind forging new traditions, anyway. They could celebrate every year, every month, and every day, for as long as they want. For as long as they can.

 

★

 

_Blink, blink, blink_

Stardust rests on the water, coalescing on the edges of lily pads, while fireflies light up in their wake.

 _Blink, blink, blink,_ comes the slow tempo, to match their soft and private pulses, their every push and pull, their aching, tender presses.

Clothes hang off the side of the boat, skimming dangerously towards dampness.

Names are exchanged with rolling, finishing sighs.

_Blink, blink, blink_

_Blink, blink, blink_

By the end of their hundredth year, Haruka and Makoto have found their regular pleasures on deck, swaying waves of the surface guiding their all-encompassing motions. Under a mess of blankets, the two of them still cling onto each other after all is said and done, summer skin on summer skin, celebrating another day in this dimension, together.

" _Mm_." Haruka lets himself groan out during a pause in a kiss, system still running with all things _Makoto._ In incoherence, arms still wrapped around him, he thinks that having him like this is constantly dizzying, like they could just go at it again—and they really _could_ , since all they've been doing is _kissing_ for the last hour or so, but Haruka is content to lie bare like this with him, too. Either way, there's adoration in every exchanged kiss, the sliding grace of curious hands on skin, every sunken, weakened instance of eye contact, and at all of this, Haruka can't complain. He lets himself get carried away again, slowly, but surely, to fall deeper under this hazy, splendid spell.

After a while, Makoto is the first to fall away, nipping Haruka on the cheek before lying back, relaxed and happy, to face the stars above.

"This reminds me of something." Makoto says, as he absentmindedly keeps his promises. He embeds a _kiss for every star_ in Haruka's hair, sending him into a guaranteed lull.

"Hm?" Haruka lets his head roll back languidly when Makoto scoops him up closer to embrace, and for the first time in a long time, he really feels small against him. He closes his eyes when Makoto leaves a kiss against his temple next, wondering if he'll ever finish his thought at this point.

"Sorry...it's just hard to stop sometimes." Makoto laughs, moving down to Haruka's cheek.

"Not complaining." Haruka mumbles, wondering if things like _cloud ten_ exist. Makoto's touch, in all forms, should not feel this sweet after a hundred years. "You were saying?" he asks anyway, to move the conversation along, so maybe they'll have time for other things.

"Oh, right." Makoto still can't bring himself to stop. He places one right on Haruka's nose, before humming to regain his place. "Um."

"You said this reminded you of something."

"Ah, yeah!" Makoto lightly taps Haruka right on the back, making the other flinch just in the slightest.

"And?"

"I just thought, _well_ ," Makoto says as he stretches a little from under the blankets, "whenever we're here, like _this_ on your boat, it reminds me of the empty pool."

Of all the things Makoto may or may not remember, Haruka knows he'll never forget their time at the empty pool. To Haruka, the memory runs like the remaining paint on a still-soaking paintbrush, constantly losing its color and depth. Some things remain vivid about this memory, _the other memories,_ like the type of light they saw that night, the promise made in that specific voice, _a kiss for every star,_ made in Makoto's own inflections, but there are some things Haruka will never get back. As much as he tries, he can't remember just _how_ Makoto kissed him that night, or if they stayed four hours or five, if the mats they laid on were red or some other blasted color, and for that, _for every missing detail,_ he's thankful that Makoto can refresh things for him.

"How so?" Haruka presses himself against Makoto's chest so he can't the forming smile on his lips.

"It just kinda feels the same." Makoto answers. "You know, being all cozy under the blankets..."

"But it's summer." Haruka parts himself to correct him.

"Ah, _well—_ "

"And we're naked." He teases.

" _Haru,_ I mean, like...the vibe." Makoto explains. "Like, there's this sort of heart coming from a place I don't understand. That I never really _will_ understand. It's just that same feeling...between string lights and stars—there's no difference."

Makoto finds Haruka's hand under the blankets, gently curling his fingers to lift and kiss them.

"Even when you don't expect any sort of warmth from either one of them, because their light might seem too weak, or too far, but," Makoto peers up, smiling, "I've never felt it more than when I was with you. In that pool, in that place."

_Everywhere and every time._

Haruka is too stunned to refuse Makoto's airy kisses, each one bubbling from embarrassed, anxious laughter. It's like the two of them have the will to get worked up again, despite their one hundredth anniversary looming around the corner, because their limbs are still spry and their hearts are still young. And this time, Haruka _does_ get a little more worked up than usual, system running under a new kind of vibrancy— because Haruka may never get to see memory's exact color, it might have faded long ago, but Makoto will come in to find new shades.

Haruka closes his eyes, anticipating the next press of the lips, before trying to remember how Makoto had kissed him that night. When Makoto whips off the blankets and kisses Haruka in earnest, Haruka sinks in trying to recall and gets over trying. Because as much as Haruka wants to relive that specific scene, to feel that particular warmth again, he thinks that this isn't so bad, either. He doesn't mind getting tangled up in it. He doesn't mind getting tangled up in Makoto.

 _Blink, blink, blink,_ comes the quickened tempo, to match their vibrant pulses.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_~~Note to self: don't actually send to Haru.~~ _

_~~Or do.~~ _

_(Actually, don't.)_

_In the year I couldn't get to you and fought with the stars, I clipped love locks all over the world. Paris, New York City, Florence, Montevideo—I can't remember all the cities I went to, and honestly I owe a lot of thank you's to the cat for helping me get around, but I'd like to think they're all still there, proudly showing off our names._

_Oh...this is a little cheesy, isn't it? Does it sound like I'm bragging? Well, I guess that's all okay._

_I can tell you here because I'm not sure I'll ever send this particular letter out, that having this goal made things a lot easier. It made...not going back to Iwatobi a lot easier._

_Because, in complete honesty, I held onto this hope that they wouldn't forget me. Our friends, family—especially since I never stayed in the other dimension for long._

_But they did._

_And I just couldn't go back after that._

_Anyway._

_This letter has gotten out of control and I didn't mean to turn it into a confessional, so I really don't think I can send this to you. Because the last thing I want is to worry anyone, especially you, and this is honestly not a huge concern. I think it just helps to write this stuff down sometimes, all with the intention of never letting anyone see. So...well, I guess I'm talking to myself at this point, huh?_

_Note to self, though: I need to tell you about the lovelocks._

_The other stuff, well...maybe not so much._

_-Makoto_

★

 

"So, what do you think they've been up to?"

Haruka shrugs, picks the stem of a _bluebird blossom_ in between his fingers, and flings it into the basket for granny. Her birthday is coming up soon, which means the usual picnic under the moon, and he figures a bouquet of flowers wouldn't hurt to go along with it. Sometimes Makoto likes to follow him to the fields on his days off from teaching, playing little games to pass the time, and this time has been no different. Today, in deviating from their infinite games of _tic tac toe_ and charades, they're trying to guess what their friends might be up to since they've gone.

"Well...let's start off with Rin, then." Makoto suggests, his voice a little lower than usual. Haruka notices they're not even making the usual eye contact, because Makoto's busy staring off into space. He takes note of this, this apparent melancholy that springs up once in an infinity, and stops midway through picking flowers.

"What do you see him doing?" _What does the world have in store for him? For all of them?_

Taking his place amongst the gingko leaves and the blossoms, Haruka sets his basket down and joins Makoto for a much-needed break. He thinks about it for a moment, thinking of the elapsed time in the other world, where he has to remind himself that things move much more slowly.

"Rin is swimming." Haruka says, without thinking too much. "And winning along the way."

Makoto nods. "That one seems like a given. You think he'll make it to the Olympics?"

"Probably."

"Nagisa?" Makoto asks next.

"Astronaut." Haruka deadpans, intentionally veering off into the fantastical, and at this Makoto gives up a laugh, weak like the stagnant wind, but does his best to keep the following smile.

"I could see that, somehow." Makoto says, staring up at the moon. At once, Haruka imagines Nagisa making a landing on it, certainly to the envy of granny and the other lunar admirers. He'd probably make a joke about having _moon cake_ in celebration once his expedition was over, throwing parties every which way.

In _reality_ though, he's probably studying hard in the middle of his first year at university, wandering about in all the subjects that interest him. Haruka catches glimpses of _marine biology_ or _paleontology,_ with something like _classical Russian literature_ mixed into the fold. Of them all, Nagisa's bound to explore the most, carving winding and impromptu paths, laughing all along his journey.

"Rei?" Haruka asks next, not sure how to keep score. Usually with impromptu games, they just try to make each other crack up and count that way, but Makoto doesn't seem to be in a laughing mood at all. To this, Haruka takes a deep breath over the brittle ash of the autumn air, the dying leaves, and lets himself sink into Makoto's lap. He looks up, blinking up in keen observance. He blinks once, then twice, _innocently_ , but watching all the same. Makoto is bothered. The restful rise of his breath is anything but that, masking the prickle of heated pins and needles.

In turn, Makoto absently— _or not absently at all—_ runs his fingers through Haruka's hair, putting him in a sort of ease that he's usually hopeless at staving off.

"He's excelling at whatever he's studying. Lots of research...a mountain of books, some time in the pool to lecture, if he's still got a captain's streak in him. _Theory, theory, theory!_ I'm not sure how the other swimmers would take it, though."

"He'd mean well." Haruka remarks next.

"Oh, of course." Makoto nods. "Even if he _cooould_ be..."

"Hm?"

"A mad scientist." Makoto jokes next, to go along with Haruka's previous suggestions. Leaning over and getting closer to the other boy's face next, Makoto meets Haruka in the eye and kisses him right on the cheek. His mood seems lighter, something that Haruka's quietly relieved over, but he won't forget caution. He _definitely_ won't, even if Makoto seems dead set on waving it off.

"Rei and Nagisa could build a big spaceship." Makoto strings the tale together. "And go flying into space."

"To go where, exactly?" Haruka asks with a heavy huff of breath, suddenly feeling fatigue from the tips of his dirt-stained fingers all the way to his wary, well-walked feet. Makoto is too good at putting him at peace, especially after a full day tending to the gardens and treading the fields.

"Past the clouds..."

"M-hm." Sleepiness rears its drowsy head. Darn Makoto and his graces, his all-assuming poise.

"All the planets..."

"Planets." Haruka repeats back to him.

"Past galaxies near and far...past the universe as they know it—"

Haruka feels something caught in his throat. He doesn't want to call it pain, because nostalgia shouldn't hurt anymore. It still does, for the briefest span of time, but Haruka lets it settle into something comfortably sad. He's had time to come to terms with his losses, and even though they'll never unpin themselves off the cork of his memory, he doesn't think he can still _physically_ ache. It just leaves him a little more exhausted than usual, to reach back that far and grasp at hazy memories, but he doesn't mind it when the result is something this splendid.

 _Nagisa_ and _Rei_ and _Rin_ , smiling endlessly in the pursuit of their lives. Past the planes of their own limitations.

Falling further from consciousness, Haruka thinks it's a beautiful thing, to still see them across the dimensions.

"—to reach us one day. To help us find the other world." Makoto says in all hope, and Haruka knows, in the instance the words leave his mouth, that he isn't just telling stories. Makoto's not just playing silly field games.

Because longing, in all forms, surpasses any feint of forgetting.

And it's all still _fresh_ to Makoto. He hasn't the time like Haruka's had.

"Haru?"

"Mm?"

"Ah, well...nothing. It's, _um_ , nothing." Makoto smiles and continues to play with Haruka's hair. "Are you sleepy, Haru?"

"Not really."

"Your face is all rosy, though. Like you want to."

"I _don't_ want to."

"Aw, why?" Makoto asks, faking a small laugh.

With clear eyes, lifted out of momentary sinking, Haruka ignores the cosmos above and looks up at his only sun. He frowns, reaching up to touch his face, and lets Makoto hold his hand in interim.

"Haru." His voice drops in knowing.

"Don't say it." Haruka tells him.

"But I'm fine." Makoto whispers. " _Really_. Why wouldn't I be?"

_'Because it's written all over you.'_

From shaking hands to forced laughs, to everything in between.

Despite all of this, Makoto is _still_ too good at bringing Haruka to sleep, to the rhythm of constant, careful reassurance.

"I'm fine."

Haruka still doesn't believe it.

"It will all be fine."

"Makoto." The chasm between waking and sleep grows wider, and Haruka's only looking deeper into darkness.

" _Haru."_

Haruka hears Makoto call out to him again, but he's not sure if this is start of some dream. He feels the other boy's fingers run through the space behind his ear, tucking stray hairs back, which only makes him elicit the softest huff of breath. Grasping at the soothing hand, Haruka lets his touch fall away when he goes to sleep right on Makoto's lap.

"Rest well, Haru." Makoto's voice is nothing but a hush against the breeze, hardly heard in the rustle of dead gingko leaves. It shakes as hard as the shedding trees.

"You, too." Haruka whispers right back, because sometimes the world still feels heavy with unexplained longings. It is perched on the small of their backs, preying on nostalgia-filled days.

When Haruka nestles further into the dream, he swears he can hear Makoto break down on the thin veneer outside it.

 

★

 

At the top of the Ferris wheel, Makoto tells Haruka about the lovelocks. They're overlooking the town during the celebration of _Pisces_ constellation, but Haruka is in no mood to join in the festivities this time and neither is Makoto. They're just content to tell their little stories while they wait to reach the top, and Haruka has a good one about his granny's third marriage to the tumultuous moon.

Makoto laughs, but it is held back and fragile. Haruka notices immediately, but he just wonders if Ferris wheels have a habit of subduing the both of them. From here to Tokyo, maybe this is not the place to be.

Maybe it's dizzying, thinking about reaching the top and only going down from there.

Maybe it's unnerving, thinking about reaching the ground and never getting to actually touch it.

Again and again, the Ferris wheel goes around in circles, in repeated rotations, always moving in slow and sure motion, but it never reaches anything for too long. It never finds common ground or tests the limits of the sky.

 

★

   
 _Haru._

_Sometimes, I have these dreams._

_You and I are always in them, and we're smiling and happy. It's never the exact same, because sometimes it's raining and we're standing in a street alley, and sometimes we're under a pink and clear sky. But the one thing that stays the same is that we're together in the city, Tokyo of all places, and we're leading normal lives. We have an apartment together and we have a cat that isn't cosmic by any means...and you eat mackerel and take baths in the morning. I get to sleep next to you and never have to worry about the stars keeping me in place, and...well._

_We get to see the light of day—the blue skies, the strong sun._

_Well, I guess I shouldn't dwell on these things. I hope I don't sound ungrateful, because I don't regret coming here one bit._

_Sometimes I just think of things that could've been._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

“Has our little sun ended his honeymoon period yet, my dear?”

Haruka almost drops his paintbrush at the question but lets it land on his lap, splotches of black ruining the denim of his light jeans. Annoyed, he picks it up by the tips of his fingers and dunks it into the water to soak, and rubs his hands together get the excess paint off. Granny just laughs and scoots over to meet her grandson by his easel, because Haruka’s still got color on his face with a dire need of tending to.

“What did you call it?” Haruka asks for clarification as she dabs a handkerchief to his cheek.

Granny nearly forgets her initial question. “Hm? Oh, yes. _The honeymoon period_. Is he still in it?”

“With me?” Haruka asks.

“No, not with you. _Never with you_.” Granny chuckles. “You two are in it for the long run.”

Haruka blushes but doesn’t say a word about _that._ No one ever asks about the coupling of _Makoto and Haruka,_ because them being together just feels like a law of nature by now. All the neighbors know about _little boy blue_ and _the son of suns._

“Then…?” Haruka asks, still unsure of what his grandmother is asking.

“I mean, has his honeymoon period ended with this _dimension_?” She asks. “As in...has he grown homesick with the other world?”

To this, Haruka doesn’t say a word. He’d _like_ to think Makoto has adjusted here well enough, and by all accounts _he has_ , with his teaching job and part-time work in the lamp shop, his ease in the blossom fields and on the shore—he’s even learned how to sail Haruka’s boat, of all things—but there’s just no use lying to himself about matters like this. Makoto has not shown any real gripes in staying here as of yet, aside from the usuals like, _‘I miss my mother’s cooking’_ or _‘my dad used to say this or that,’_ or maybe something about his students reminding him of Ren or Ran, but he knows better than anyone in this dimension and the next about how well Makoto can hide.

_‘But I’m fine.’_

_‘Really, why wouldn’t I be?'_

Haruka still doesn’t believe what Makoto said in the fields. The sweet aroma of the _bluebird blossoms_ and his laced words won’t change that. Makoto can be disarming, but it's never for long when he's with Haruka.

“So, what do you think?” Granny asks him again.

“I...don’t know.”

He honestly doesn’t, at least not for sure.

Honeymoon or no honeymoon, Haruka just wants Makoto to be happy.

 

★

 

 _Longing_ —

Out of the twenty four hours in a day, Haruka only catches glimpses of it at most. It has to be under the utmost certainty, in those spaces in time where Makoto's caught staring off, completely unaware that Haruka's there, too. Sometimes it'll be towards the lake during starfall, because they have all fallen faster and harder lately, and other times, he'll be slumped over in sighs in the lamp shop. Today, despite the promise of a new year, has delivered the latter.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out with a tray of tea for two, and Makoto instantly snaps himself out of it. His shoulders rise up almost a little too quickly when he looks over them to face Haruka, he smile completely transparent. It falters for a second when he knows Haruka can read it completely, but he still forges on with it, anyway, for the sake of trying.

"Haru."

Haruka sets the tea down on the work table and takes a seat next to Makoto, brushing the wood shavings off his shoulder. He doesn't come into the lamp shop as often as _little sun_ once did, but sometimes he will stay for the peace and quiet of it. He likes the way the lights flicker without having to lose any from his sky.

"Well, if I remember correctly from the story...I had a family here, didn't I?"

Haruka nods. He did, too.

"What happened to them, Haru?" Makoto just takes Haruka's hand and holds it, staring down at the ground and completely ignoring his tea.

"I don't know. Granny says they could've fled to the other part of the dimension to start fresh, when the stars first fell." Haruka remembers. "Or...they haven't been raptured, yet."

Makoto perks up ever so slightly at that, but the hope on his face is palpable. And at once, Haruka's suspicions are proven correct when he sees the light come back into Makoto's eyes.

"But where would they be, in that world?" Makoto asks. "Could they be the same set of people? The same parents I have in Iwatobi?"

Or, other words, ' _do you think I'll be able to see them again?'_

And the answer is no. Things don't line up that perfectly. The stars had to wait eons for them to match up again, as _Haruka and Makoto,_ as a testament to that fact—so when Haruka sees right through the question, it breaks him in knowing. Pins and needles travel up his spine in fleeting panic, because he doesn't want to lie to Makoto or give him any false hope. At the same time though, he knows how much Makoto must miss Iwatobi, his parents, his brother and sister.  It's the same feeling Haruka gets from time to time too, but he imagines that Makoto's come in multitudes. He's still more connected to the other world, after all. He hasn't been in this dimension for the same _millennium_ and more Haruka has.

"Haru?" Makoto's voice breaks on the last syllable and it takes all the wind out of the other boy.

To this, Haruka wants to apologize for all the things they can't control. Because of things they've lost in both their lifetimes. Because even though he wants to give Makoto everything, _he can't,_ and as much as he wants to say, ' _he should've forgotten me like all the others,'_ and ' _he should have never come here in the first place,'_ they both know how _little_ they want that. How they don't want that at all. Makoto _wants_ to be here.

Again, it all comes down to a matter of sacrifice, and how many of them they're willing to make.

Because they've given and given and _given_ , and they will continue to, in order to stay together—it's just that sometimes everything else catches up with them, too. Haruka forgets they're carrying whole universes on their backs.

"I'm sorry, Makoto." Haruka's voice breaks on the first instance of breath. Makoto's gaze flicks up in fear.

Outside, the fireworks go off and the people cheer on the boardwalk. In the lamp shop, Haruka and Makoto let their tea run cold for the first time in the New Year, their three hundredth together.

In prayer, hands clasped onto Makoto's instead of his own, Haruka spends his wish on things he'd never think to ask for.

 

★

 

No god or star dares to answer Haruka's prayers, so he paints Makoto a picture instead.

At the bottom of the stony steps, he's drawn Makoto's mother, father, and the twins—with their beloved son standing proudly, taller than all the others, in the back. It's spring and there's the purest form of daylight, without a trace of cloud cover or impending storm, and cherry blossoms float on to signify the ghost of a soft and unseen wind.

On the back, Haruka names the piece, _"Family,"_ without considering any other title. He spends the next one hundred years perfecting this picture in secret, filling in vague faces and finding the grandest shades of color. Haruka scolds himself for the accuracy he'll never attain, because he can't possibly remember their details to the fullest extent anymore. He regrets it on the day he first sketched the picture, and he questions it all on the night he puts on his careful, finishing touches.

Still, he gives it to Makoto anyway, on one summer night during sailing. Makoto grabs ahold of Haruka for a while after that, grateful and upset and gasping in the same instance.

"Thank you, Haru." Makoto tells him in hushed tones, as the stars come down extra heavy that evening. "Thank you so much." He cries along with the whistling pop of cosmic downpour, and the emerging waves rock their boat endlessly to match the unnerving sound.

"I was...beginning to forget their faces." Makoto admits next, in all honesty.

The other boy does a double take. "What?"

Haruka has never imagined that it would amount to this. For a moment, he begs the world to stop—all time in this dimension and the next, this ceaseless movement of the stars and the reckless waves, the motions of Makoto’s strangled mouth _—_

"I was beginning to forget everything about them."

His words strike Haruka deep, down to the very depths—like the mistaken tip of a black brush on a blue skied canvas.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_You're family to me, too. I hope you remember that, and I hope you keep remembering that._

_Because I'm glad I got to keep you._

_I'm glad we have each other._

_Through everything and anything._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

"Do you ever think about going home?" Haruka asks him on the shore, while they're trying to catch stardust in their palms.

To this, Makoto looks out at the lake and blinks twice before shaking his head.

"You are my home." He tells Haruka quietly, smiling back at him like this is the most natural answer in the world.

 

★

 

Outside the safety of the florist's awning, downpour strikes and the clouds obscure the stars. Sparks burn up into nothing before hitting the lake, leaving the rest of their world in darkness for the night. Power has gone out across the dimension, from the network of string lights to even the steady facade of the Ferris wheel, and it feels like everyone has gone inside to hide— _the smartest decision in the threat of a storm_ —but two particular boys don’t heed to the rain.

 _No_ , Haruka and Makoto remain, soaked to the bone and uncertain about the times to come.

"You should go back." Haruka tells him, voice kept low even in the storm. "Just for a little while." He unfurls his shaking hands for the millionth time in a span of ten minutes, before clenching them closed again in determination.

"A _little while_ is a lot longer here, Haru." Makoto closes his umbrella and lets it fall to the floor, where the wind rattles it off to the side.

"This place will still be here when you come back. You'll still have your job and—"

"I don't care about that." Makoto raises his voice. "I care about _you._ "

"That doesn't matter." Haruka counteracts, even though it's the last thing he wants to say. Because it _does_ matter, and _selfishly_ , he'd rather not take any more chances in losing Makoto for the long term. But he knows that he cannot always keep things in the status quo, even if it takes him a while to understand this. _Even if it means leaving_. "You still have time," he continues, watching the starfall mix in the boisterous storm, the oncoming monsoon.

“ _Haru_.”

“I know this,” Haruka chokes out against the wind, standing his ground, “and _you_ know this."

Makoto loosens his tie and lets his face sink into something sad, because he knows Haruka is right. At the end of their five-hundredth year together in _this_ dimension, Haruka predicts a year and a half elapsed on _the other_ time, which means it's not too late to find a world still familiar. Iwatobi will remain in prime place, as will the Tachibana house and the family inside it. They both know that this is the time to go back, because age won't show itself too much this time, and they still have enough stars to accommodate the trip here and back.

"They don't even remember me—"

"But you want to see them." Haruka tells him. "Don't you?"

"I do, but—"

"Then see them."

They just stare at each other for a moment in their silence, heated despite the cool autumn rain, filled with a thousand thoughts and million words left unsaid. Haruka closes his eyes, lets himself deflate from dizziness, but he doesn't drop completely. Makoto catches him against his chest, hands clutching onto either arm, and pulls him into an embrace. Haruka is thankful for the guise of rainwater, because it blends in with the tears he doesn't mean to cry.

"You should get to go back, too." Makoto concedes.

Haruka loses more strength from his legs, but Makoto won’t let him fall.

"I can't."

"Come back with me, Haru."

"It won't work!" Haruka insists, digging his fingers into the wet fabric of Makoto's dress shirt.

"I'll _make_ it work."

Unfortunately, because Makoto knows the precise difference between his tears and rain water, he has no trouble wiping off the former with the back of his hand. He lifts Haruka's chin to kiss him, in a vain effort to hide him away from the downpour and any thought of _separation_. Haruka swallows down the rest of his miseries, determined not to let Makoto find fresh tears, the new redness under his eyes, and kisses him back with hands lightly held and the same, simmering determination—because he wants what's best for Makoto. He wants him to see his family again. He wants to give him this world and the next, and all the many moons that lie in between, because Makoto has already given him every star in the universe.

And with this, Haruka tells himself he's willing to try.

He will try for his _little sun,_ to ease the darkness of his recurring eclipse.

 

★

 

But it doesn't work.

With hands held on the beach, Makoto calls out to the stars and asks to take the both of them back. Haruka lets himself stare up too, sights blocked by the pelting rain, but with bright and emboldened eyes, Makoto seems to see them clearly past the storm. Under the rumble of a distant thunder, Haruka hears the one-sided argument—a _little sun_ bursts into solar flare, while the other stars say, all without words, that ' _nothing,_ absolutely nothing _, can be done_.'

_'Because Nanase Haruka has been here too long.'_

This is something Haruka already knows. He breathes this in every morning and exhales it with every passing night.

"Please bring the both of us back!"

And just like their first encounter as _little boy blue_ and the _son of suns,_ Haruka watches Makoto yell his heart out at the sky anyway, for the boy that no one can ever, ever help.

"Hey!"

And just like back then, Haruka wants to reach out and tell him to stop.

"Makoto—"

_‘Stop wearing out all your light.’_

The stars stop falling and the rain lessens into mist—

_‘Save some for yourself.’_

—and the moment that happens, Makoto's hand yanks out of place, like flying right into the other dimension, and Haruka feels himself kicked onto the sand. Makoto screams, with a hurricane's worth of outburst, all to _"hold on,"_ but it's hard to do that when it feels like Haruka's about to collapse into himself. Haruka lets go completely when his chest constricts everything out of him, sharp jolts saying, _'you're not going anywhere,'_ and he complies with this without meaning to, sinking further into unconsciousness and incoherence. Makoto's already at the definite point of vanishing, fading out from the dimension when all he wants to do is _call this off._

" _No,_ no!" Makoto cries, voice already caught in immeasurable distance. "No, let me stay! _Let me stay_!"

Another clap of thunder emerges in the sky, closer to them. Haruka knows he can't leave this place. Not today, and maybe not ever.

"Makoto." Haruka still reaches out anyway, when the stars all fade out and that last glimpse of _his only sun_ blinks out of view.

" _Makoto_."

"Haru!" His voice is lost to the storm.

" ** _Haru!_** " His voice sounds so far away.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_Haru...Haru, I'm so sorry. Haru, please._

_Please tell me you're safe._

_I'll come back as soon as I can._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

Haruka holds granny's hand and mouths Makoto's name as they lie him on the stretcher. When he sinks into his dreams, he sees a blue sky and the vibrant summer sun, with no land or sea beneath to interrupt it. A bluebird flies into view, swooping downward in a dive before shooting right back up towards the clouds, and just like that, the vision ends.

 

★

 

Without an exact explanation for Haruka's fainting spell, doctors have likened it to being struck by lightning. Haruka doesn't like the sound of that though, because lightning just feels like stardust in a quickened form, and the stars would never do anything like _tear him down._ Sitting up in his empty bed, Haruka's just thankful that a fever and a throbbing headache are all that remain from his travelling mishap, and that doctors haven't uncovered any lasting detriments on his overall health.

"Make sure you take your medicine." Granny tells him.

"There is no medicine." Haruka tells her right back. "Just a new wet cloth every now and then."

"Tea wouldn't hurt, either."

"I guess."

Jokingly, granny tells him to leave _dimension jumping_ to the son of suns. She leaves Haruka two cups of tea, one made in habit because Makoto's usually here to drink his, before leaving her grandson with a kiss on the cheek.

"Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon." Granny laughs. "He'll be able to dote on you, then."

Haruka offers nothing but an ounce of a smile, but he hides it away in the first instance he's alone. He climbs out from under the covers, still dizzy as dizzy can be, and takes a sip from his tea, forcing down the unexpected bitterness and letting it burn down his throat. He stares down at the floor and lets his toes curl at the thought of it, _Makoto coming back,_ because he's not sure if that means waiting the next two days or the next three hundred years. Settling into achy sighs and climbing back into bed, Haruka tells himself not to think about this so much.

Because whatever will be, _will be_ —

—and Makoto will always be at the end of it.

 

★

 

When Makoto finds him again, it's only been twenty days but a forever's worth of restlessness. Haruka is just waking up from a fitful nap in the _bluebird blossom_ fields, with scribble-filled sketchbook tucked under him and blankets keeping his system much too warm. There's screaming, a ringing echo among the dying thistles, before it turns into something more substantial. For sure, it’s the undoubtable voice of Makoto in disarray, footsteps thrashing through the weeds to find him, his _little blue,_ his _little boy blue,_ and the hampered, gnawing breaths in between. In turn, Haruka rises from the blossoms, searches in blurred vision, and finds Makoto at the edge of the grass. Still drenched from head to toe from another day's rain, he looks like he's about to keel over from absolute exhaustion.

But he doesn't.

Makoto lets the words slip out of mouth, mouth breaking into smiling relief and the simultaneous ‘ _I'm sorry.’_

"I found you."

"Makoto." Haruka's voice is too small, too strangled, to reach the other side of the field. To remedy this, Makoto runs up to him to hear it. They fall apart in a hug, and Makoto's so upset that he can hardly string his apologies together. With a bad case of a _rapidly beating heart_ , Haruka just lets himself crumble under the weight of him—like Makoto's a tidal wave and Haruka's been this one, sunken ship he's been looking to unearth from the bottom of the sea. Makoto's embrace is enveloping and tight and desperate, leaning into Haruka with everything that was and will be.

"Haru." Makoto squeaks out. "I'm so sorry, Haru."

“Don’t be.”

Haruka closes his eyes and lets Makoto remain this way for as long as he needs to.

Because even if this has been their shortest separation to date, _just twenty days_ (and, as Haruka would later find out, a total of ten minutes on the other side—some of the "worst ten minutes" Makoto has "ever spent in _either_ dimension," he says) Haruka swears the reunion feels like something for much longer.

With this, star fall begins despite the withering sky. Through the thin veil of cloud cover, only half of their universe remains.

 

★

 

"Are you sure about this?" Makoto asks.

"Yes," is all Haruka can choke out.

Makoto gets up, finds his red plaid shirt on the floor, and places it over Haruka's bare shoulders. The latter, already filled with _I miss you's,_ huddles close to himself under it, burying his flushed face in the pillow as Makoto gets dressed. In a year's worth of discussions about this, Haruka knew this day would be coming, because he had been the one to push for this _voluntary leave,_ but it still doesn't make Makoto leaving any easier. He hasn't prepared enough for it, and the twisting sensation in his chest only reminds him of this one undeniable fact. In a last ditch effort, he tells himself, _'it's only two days,'_ and that the twenty-something years he'll wait in return are nothing. It has to be nothing.

_it's only two days, it's only two days, it's only two days_

"Haru."

Haruka just hides away even more when Makoto calls after him like that. His voice rings with something like, _'I want to bring you home, too,'_ simultaneously hopeful and heartbroken at the same exact time.

_it's only twenty years, it's only twenty years, it's only twenty years_

"Hey." Makoto pokes a finger to Haruka's exposed cheek.

"I want you to see them." Haruka tells Makoto abruptly, muffled under his pillow and hidden under fabric. "Let's leave it at that."

Makoto sighs and the other boy can feel him sit back down on the bedside, carefully to lean over and kiss him goodbye. With eyes kept closed, Haruka squirms when Makoto brushes his bangs away and takes his sweet time with parting kisses. This only makes the pressure in Haruka's chest increase tenfold. He wants to withdraw into nothing, like there's a black hole forming in the middle of his chest.

"I love you, Haru."

Haruka pretends not to hear this, even though it's the only thing he _wants_ to hear right now.

"I promise I won't be gone too long."

With weakness and everything he has, Haruka finds the will to courage, _"I love you, too."_ Hands lace together even when they should be splitting at the seams. Haruka presses a kiss to Makoto's cheek, one to keep him safe for the journey home, back here, and everything in between, and Makoto whispers eons’ worth of affection in return. After a while like this, gradually inching closer and closer until they're both yearning for something more, something they can keep and keep and _keep_ , they look for just that and end up mercilessly intertwined again, clothes off, legs tangled, plans delayed.

As their bodies roll up on each other, _goodbyes_ extended past the early morning, Haruka thinks about the meaning of departure—and how difficult they really are to set into motion.

 

★

 

_Haru._

_I miss you a lot, even though I've only been here for a day. Iwatobi is doing just fine, back on its feet after a particularly bad spring storm. The beach is the same one we used to walk on together._

_After some digging around, I've learned that Rei and Nagisa have left town for college. I'm on my way to watch Rin's Olympic press conference in a coffee shop, and later I'll introduce myself as a new neighbor to my parents. Ah, I just hope everything's okay with them. Everyone, really._

_I hope everything's okay with you._

_I'll be back soon...I just can't bear to be away so long._

_-Makoto_

 

★

  
When Makoto returns approximately twenty one years later, Haruka feels a hurricane swell up, eat up the island of his heart, and spit it back out in a queasy, quiet aftermath.

From across the festival grounds, Makoto is a calm gale on a settled sea. He lifts up on his toes before taking off, leaving the petals of a daisy bouquet in his light footed wake. It takes him precisely three seconds—Haruka’s counted—to reach him on the other side, and another two for their hands to be held and swaying. At once they move in unison, left foot then right foot, as if years of separation don't mean a single, damned thing. Down the boardwalk they go, into the quietest part of a rambunctious, restless night.

Haruka thinks it's strange, that out of all the constellation festivals held here every year, that the _Scorpio's_ is the rowdiest. Makoto is nothing of the sort.

The two of them reach the docks and they prepare the boat together. Haruka lets the sails and unroll and catch wind, all to set off from its tether. Makoto nearly doesn't make it onto the ship, and has to jump a considerable distance to land awkwardly—almost thrashing, really—onto the moving deck. At this, Haruka can't help but laugh. He thinks about how long it's been since he's actually done that and chokes up when he thinks about the time passed. Two decades. Makoto hugs him close, sensing his troubles like basic instinct.

Two decades, one year, and three months. Haruka's waited centuries before this. This shouldn't have been so hard this time around, but he guesses that it never gets any easier.

The boat sails on, over the reflection of a yellowed autumn moon. The sky continues to lose its beloved stars.

Haruka doesn't talk first. Makoto speaks about his two days in the other dimension—how his dad is thinking about a career change, how his mother has taken up running on weekends, how Ren and Ran are about to finish another year of elementary school. His family moves along the course of life, growing and always changing for the better. Well, maybe except for one thing.

The part of them that should know Makoto as a son and brother has died long ago, lost the moment he made first contact with this dimension. This is something Makoto knows as well as Haruka. It is not something he is going to change.

For all of this, Haruka slips his palms against Makoto's in quiet comfort.

As for their friends, Rin is almost never in Japan anymore, but he keeps a second home at the Samezuka pool. For all the press conferences he attends as Japan's most promising olympian, he sheds all of his pomp and circumstance when he meets the newest members of his alma mater's swim team. He challenges all of them to races at the end of summer, and Makoto surmises he'll keep doing that until he's old and gray and hunched over from the heavy weight of medals around his neck.

In college, Nagisa isn't studying _marine biology_ or _paleontology._ In a rather strange, but expected course of events, he has taken up astrophysics alongside Rei in Osaka. Haruka thinks about the impromptu tales told about astronauts and mad scientists, and pictures them studying in a observatory together. Makoto says, by the word of the cat, that they were inspired by the oddities of the fickle stars. Rei is studying the practical theory behind it. Nagisa would like to believe in something more innate.

For all of this, Haruka weaves a bigger panorama across his memory and seeks to keep it forever.

As the boat catches the star-made tide and rocks the two of them endlessly, Makoto lets his hands skim the edge of the water he was once so afraid of. He might _still_ be scared, actually, but he's done a good job of hiding it with all of their secret missions to this space. He's been impeccably composed about it all. Makoto stays quiet for a good ten minutes after that, which Haruka is somehow uneasy with, despite their usual penchant for silence, and watches Makoto fall apart at the last possible second.

He's smiling and crying and slumped against Haruka in a matter of moments, broken down in sobs and choked-up silence.

But oddly, despite all of this, Makoto has never felt lighter in Haruka’s care.

Tonight, he'll be the one to kiss Makoto for every star he sees.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_You know, life gets hard sometimes, whether I'm living seventeen years or six hundred._

_Either way... I never want to leave you again._

_Let's keep looking for forever._

_Let’s keep looking, together._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

Makoto takes comfort in the form of close presses and holding Haruka near his heart. Of all the times they've found each other on the deck, under thin blankets and bare on the water, Haruka forgets that their bed is a sanctuary, too, plush and welcoming and capable of great healing.

"You okay, Haru?"

"M-hm."

As Haruka pulls himself off the sheets to kiss Makoto, both of them exhausted and already half-asleep, the latter brings him on top of him by the arms and sneaks a smooch of his own. Too tired to play, Haruka accepts it and lies his head languidly against his shoulder, feeling the slight coarseness of an old quilt on his back, but Makoto's skin feels as smooth as ever _under_ , so Haruka doesn't feel like complaining all too much this time. Staring down at his _little sun_ , Haruka perches his hands on both of Makoto's shoulders and pats him in small motions.

"Are _you_ okay?" Haruka asks, examining. Surveying.

"Ah, well, I don't think I'm going to be too sore in the morning, but I guess you can't really guess those sorts of things—"

"No, I mean," Haruka leans into Makoto a little more. "Are you... _okay_?" Blue eyes sink into almost nothing, because even if it's been ten years since Makoto's voluntary disappearance, Haruka's been making sure this sadness will never creep up again. He's been realizing lately, though, that that's not how people work, and that people still feel things in varying waves. Sometimes the sadness will dissipate before reaching a shore, only to die down on the mind's open sea, while others find it in crashing cascades against an unsuspecting shore. He can't expect Makoto to forget about the other world completely. He can't expect that of himself, either.

It's all just a matter of good days, bad days, and everything in between.

Makoto understands what Haruka's trying to ask and just kisses him, gently, in initial response.

"Oh, Haru."

Haruka tilts his head to the side in a small frown.

"I think I'm feeling just fine today." Makoto whispers in a breezy laugh. In the sea of pillows and crumpled sheets, _the boy in the bed_ whispers sweet nothings into Haruka's ear as reassurance.

 

★

"Don't open your eyes yet."

"Okay."

On the eve of their six hundredth year together, Makoto takes Haruka by the hand and leads him onto the main floor of the flower shop. He pulls Haruka down onto the overstuffed armchair they keep into the den, flittering all over the store in getting whatever it is he's trying to get ready, and through all the _clangs_ and _crashes_ , it sounds like Makoto needs a plethora of help. He imagines that granny won't be happy about the mess made in her store—because, in all honesty, there _probably_ is one—but Makoto's _boyish charm_ usually gets him out of trouble with her, anyway.

 _Flick, flick, flick,_ goes the light switches, one after the other.

A gift-box slides its way onto Haruka's lap and right under his folded palms, neatly like it's meant to fit in that absent space.

"Haru."

Makoto's close to Haruka—something he can certainly feel, by his heightened breath, because it's too excited and frankly _proud_ not to notice—when he says, gently, to open his eyes.

When Haruka does let himself do just that, he raises himself off the upholstery and right towards Makoto, who's sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He ambushes Haruka the biggest grin he's seen in a while, with eyes so bright it certainly overtakes the lights he's strung up all over the room. That itself is no small feat either, judging from the way he's so perfectly intertwined everything in illumination—from everything to the lavender of the paper hydrangeas, the crawling, coated wax of climbing ivy, to the glittered flower beds along the wall, Makoto has created their own secret garden, a place just for them to share and take in each other.

"Surprise." Makoto chuckles. As the brightest fixture in the room, the only sun leans forward, tucks a _bluebird blossom_ behind Haruka's ear, and takes his hand in quiet absolution.

"What is all of this?" Haruka asks.

"Do you...really wanna know?"

Haruka nods in return.

"It hasn't been an easy first couple of centuries," Makoto admits quietly and almost in disbelief, "because everything had happened so _quickly_...yet so _slowly_ I could hardly believe any of it."

Haruka puts on the smallest smile for him, biting his bottom lip for a split second.

"But I'm glad." Makoto says next, clearing his throat. "I'm glad I could find you, over and _over_ again...in this place, wherever we end up going. I'm glad you've been safe this whole time." He lightly dashes a fingertip under Haruka's eye, reaching up at the softest part of his temple.

"And...of the things I've left unresolved in the other world, the one thing I regret most and _still_ regret more than anything, is that I couldn't share it with you."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Haruka feels his gaze melt into blurriness before finding composure. He focuses, ears burning and eyes sore, but he forges on.

"Because you should get to paint...and _swim_ and _live_ in the way you want to." Makoto continues. "In Iwatobi. In the world you want to be in. And, well," Makoto tightens his grip around Haruka's hand and looks down, perhaps saddened, "I still want to give that to you."

"Makoto—"

Under their makeshift stars, embedded in the thickets of leaves and petals, Makoto leans over to kiss him. Haruka cups his hands on the sides of his face and falls back on the armchair to receive him. With closed eyes, he imagines the both of them in Iwatobi, meeting by the poolside, or the bottom of the steps by Makoto's house. He aches when he thinks about such places, and Makoto probably does too, _undoubtedly_ , over things they both can't change, the life they never got to lead—but with parting and another look into Makoto's face, Haruka thinks it's all okay.

"I still want to kiss you for every star," Makoto whispers, close to him, "and I want to give you the entire world under them." He slides the present closer to Haruka, in a small urge to open it. Haruka leaves a small kiss on his cheek before doing so, and the butterflies in his stomach make him wince in only the best way.

Untying the ribbon and lifting the cover, Haruka finds a gold-plated kaleidoscope sitting in the tissue. He holds it up to his eye, shakes the shards resting inside, and looks up at fragmented skies.

It almost feels like Makoto's gathered the pieces himself, from every blue they've ever seen.

"I want to give you the day."

Haruka lowers the kaleidoscope from his eye and holds it delicately in his grip, because that's what it is, _delicate_ —like it's going to break apart at any moment. He lets his thumb trace over the embezzlement and etched designs, with both of their carved names like Makoto's made lovelocks from the sky itself.

"I..." Hiding from the other boy's gaze, Haruka stares down at his lap, frozen in place with a prickle needling up his shivering spine. After six hundred years, _of course_ Makoto would still be capable of things like this, of all this overwhelming sentiment, and it doesn't seem like he's going to stop with it anytime soon.

"A-ah, I'm sorry—do you not like it?" Makoto actually has the nerve to ask, placing his hands on top of Haruka's again in the slightest panic. Haruka almost feels like he's fifteen again, flinching just at the touch of him, and has to stop himself from squirming the way he is. Taking a deep breath, he finds the will to face Makoto and shakes his head.

"I...like it." Haruka tells him. "I like it a lot."

 _'I like **you** a lot.' _ He feels his whole face go red.

"And," Haruka starts, trying not to stammer, " _Ah_." He pushes himself towards the edge of the seat cushion and lets their knees knock.

"Thank you for finding me."

_All those years ago—_

_—time and time again._

A smile can't help but creep onto Makoto's face, _unsure_ unfolding into something like pure joy. Haruka can't help but burst into one too, because it's just really one of those days, and they've had a lot of good ones lately. As Haruka lets Makoto kiss him again, under the lights and paper petals, he silently, unabashedly wishes for more.

"Happy anniversary, Haru."

Whether they're in this world or the next, and whether or not forever's really in their grasp.

 

★

 

“Your hair looks like outer space.” Makoto tells him one night, laughing.

“What?”

“You know, because it’s dark...and you’ve got _these_ caught in it.”

Makoto pulls out a single flake of gold from the bed of Haruka’s hair and pinches it for him to see. Haruka takes it into the palm of his hand while Makoto continues to dry his hair with a towel, humming a pleasant song granny taught him over four centuries ago. Sticking it between the pages of his journal, Haruka sighs a bit when Makoto starts rubbing at his temples, sending shivers right up his back, and at this, Makoto just laughs and kisses him sweetly on the side of the head. He looms over his shoulder, stopping his song and placing a hand on the table, dangerously close to Haruka’s like he's threatening to hold it.

“Mm. That’s new.” Makoto observes. “You’re usually sketching.”

Haruka reddens a little.

“It’s a new project.” he says simply. “A publisher liked my work at the gallery...and asked me to draw a picture book. He said I could write it, too.”

Makoto leaves the towel over Haruka’s head and takes the seat next to him. “Oh?” he asks, perching his hand on his chin and leaning over it. “What’s it about?”

Frowning, more out of shyness than anything else, Haruka bops Makoto on the nose with a kiss and leaves him blushing, too.

“It’s a surprise.” Haruka tells him. He hides the title at the top of the page, _‘Love is the Last Thing,’_ with a quick swipe of his hand, determined not to let Makoto see until it’s finished.

 _Little sun_ does not protest. He just picks another star out of Haruka’s bangs, places the owed kiss, and dozes off alongside him while he writes.

 

★

 

In the summer of their seven-hundredth year together, Haruka finds his light at the bottom of the pool.

Haruka and Makoto set out on their boat, leave their clothes in neat piles, and look out at the water below them. Haruka can feel the electricity surge through his veins and out his pores at the thought of jumping in, not just cupping it in his hand or skimming it pathetically on the surface.

Makoto takes his hand over the edge of the boat for a second, dives in first with just a second's hesitation, and beckons for Haruka to join him once he reemerges. The clarity of the lake has been unparalleled in the past two hundred years or so, no small feat thanks to the resting stars on the bedrock below. A school of metallic-scaled fish swim at shallow levels while magenta lotus pads float along the surface. The droves of colored coral bloom with embedded stardust below Makoto, erecting a metropolis of light, lit skyscrapers for the sea. As Haruka looks down below, eyes bright at the sight of this brand new world, he can't help but think that Makoto belongs right in it, too.

No, _well_ , he might be a bit wrong about this.

Because despite the brilliant shades beneath him, nothing is livelier than Makoto's sunken green.

"Haru." He holds his hand out for Haruka to take, like he's done a million-and-a-half times before.

Haruka smiles, plunges right in, and submerges himself with hands held tight. He lets the water, cool and streaming, overcome all his senses, and for a moment, he forgets how to swim again—but it doesn't feel like sinking, or being dragged down like that time in Samezuka. Because even though water is said to be denser than air, Haruka feels like he's drifting through the soft current of wind, weightless and floating.

And when he expects to drown, he finds that he's still breathing, alive and well, he sees that Makoto is doing the same. The other boy smiles, watches the coral beam and blink with every new fallen star breaking the surface, and pulls Haruka closer by the draw of his hands. Dazed, Haruka stares on at Makoto, watches his face break momentarily for the newly submerged light, _because that just means fewer stars above,_ but sees him regain his form in no time.

 _Blink, blink, blink,_ comes the gentle beat, to match Haruka's calmed heart. With this, Makoto swoops in to kiss him, parting and leaving Haruka in surprise anyway, because there are limitless ways to kiss someone for every star.

And whether they're above or below them, whether they're on land or sinking sea, Haruka will love any star that Makoto makes. So they float on like this, immobilized together by nothing but the simple touch of human hands, never daring or willing enough to let go.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_When I get to swim with you, my fears float away._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

_“Do people die in this dimension?”_

_“Why, of course. I’m rather close, don’t you think?”_

 

Haruka thinks of his grandmother, _the girl at heart_ , and feels his chest contract into nothing.

“Do you need me to go inside with you?” Makoto asks him.

Haruka shakes his head in a firm _no_ , because there are some things he’d rather do alone. Outside granny’s hospice bedroom, he grips onto his bouquet of _bluebird blossoms_ and swallows hard, smells the queasy aroma of incense and double-boiled herbal tea, and tells himself that it’s time to face her. He steels himself, thinking he’ll never be ready anyway, while Makoto leaves him a parting hug for _good luck._ Taking his seat in the row of hallway chairs, Makoto barely finds the will to let go of Haruka’s shaking hand when he goes inside, and only loosens his grip at the last possible second.

In the room, Haruka takes a deep breath and finds the dimness of flickering candlelight. Granny is lying back comfortably, grasping onto the first draft of Haruka’s picture book with feeble hands. Despite her weakness, she spots her grandson immediately and beckons him to come closer, to which Haruka can barely manage.

“Oh, little blue.” she laughs, coughing up a little bit. “Don’t be afraid.”

Haruka tries to smile, but he _can’t_ , not when he just feels like sinking into his shoes. He comes closer anyway, putting down his flowers and pulling a chair next to his grandmother.

“Hi.” He says quietly. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” Granny interrupts him. “I know how hard this is for you.”

To him, this is not an excuse. He should’ve been here more for her final days, instead of holing himself up in his studio and painting. He doesn’t even really remember _what_ he painted—only that he recreated all the phases of the moon on all his canvas at some point—and that he should’ve given all of these to her when he had a chance. Granny just smiles, reaches up at Haruka’s flushed face, and sighs.

“Believe me, I didn’t know this day was coming, either.” she laughs. “I planned on living another millennium.”

“More for ear pulling. Your delivery boy seriously needs it.” Haruka tries to joke.

“You really ought to be nicer to him.” Granny rolls her eyes.

“He flirts with Makoto too much.”

“He’s just being _friendly_.” Granny laughs.

This time, Haruka finds the will to smile, even if it’s only by a little bit, and lets the both of them fall into silence. In the meanwhile, granny flips through the pages of Haruka’s book, never minding the pencil dust getting on her wrinkled fingers.

“Honestly, little blue, this is wonderful.” she remarks, in all seriousness. “I’m glad you sent this to me.”

Haruka shrugs. “It’s...not finished, yet.”

Granny hums out a sigh. “Well, when it is, it’s going to be lovely. Perfect, really.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, _little blue._ ”

Haruka can’t help but frown in a small huff, even at times like this.

“Because it’s a story about you two. _Haruka and Makoto._ Little sun and little blue.” she sparks up, like she’s still got the entire world’s life in her.

"And because you two are so beautiful together.”

As granny coughs up from all the excitement, Haruka takes her hand in a panic and relaxes when she settles back onto her pillow. A comfortable little quiet rises up again, something much too fitting for times like this—even for a firecracker like granny.

“I…” Haruka starts, without being able to finish.

"Yes?"

"Ah. Nothing." Haruka shakes his head. "It's nothing."

Granny sighs.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” she asks, like something’s caught in her throat.

Haruka darts his sights up to protest, but she's right. He doesn’t want anyone to leave—not her, not Makoto, not even the pesky delivery boy down the lane. Of all eternities he’s lived in this dimension, he’s spent all of it avoiding the permanence of _leaving,_ but he _knows_ he can’t do that now. As he watches granny struggle to stay in this place, he thinks of her as the waning sky above them. The years of her life fall like stars, never to return—because even though there are a lot of them, this doesn’t mean she’ll get to stay forever. Departure is inevitable, for everyone and everything.

' _I don't.'_

_'I really, really don't.'_

Out of his scrambled thoughts, Haruka can't find the will to tell granny this, but she understands him nonetheless.

"My dear Haruka." She laughs again, tears streaming out of her sunken eyes. "What a sweet boy you are."

When Haruka takes her hand one last time, she starts telling one of her countless tales about her marriage to the beloved moon, and how that will never, ever end or break, despite things like dying.

"Because when you love someone with all that you've got, you'll never hit the end."

Haruka smiles at that. It warms the tips of his ears and leaves him smiling for reasons he can't place.

"You'll go on, forever and _ever_."

 

And when she passes, quietly and without fuss within the next hour, Haruka stays to hold onto her hand. _Because he just isn't ready for anyone to leave._ Outside the door, Makoto waits the whole time, leaving Haruka to say his final goodbyes.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_Every day, I feel like I could grow old with you, fifty times over. A thousand times over._

_I just want you past the end of my days._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

Every year on Granny's birthday, Haruka lights a lantern, sets it afloat on the water, and watches it reach the light of the moon's reflection. He's done this thirty times for thirty years, and without fail, Makoto's always been there to help him through it. On this particular year, during Haruka and Makoto's seven hundred and seventieth summer together, it has been no different, and the lantern goes on to sail its course, gone from his grasp forever.

Haruka looks up, past the wispy clouds. The stars hang peacefully tonight, staying with no sign of falling or fading out, but the sky is predictably sparse, like only a fourth of their universe remains. The rest of the dimension has been complaining a lot about the lack of the cosmos too, claiming that the city's light pollution is to blame, but even out here on the darkest part of the lake, it's clear to see how little of them remain.

Little blue finds his sights on the water. Granny's lantern drifts further and further away, like a candidate in slow fade.

"This reminds me of the _obon_ festival." Makoto says, like he does _every_ year without realizing it.

Haruka nods anyway and takes the time to say his prayers. He wishes for granny to keep her moon, wherever her afterlife is, and for her to never, ever lose sight of it. He wishes for her to keep an eye on the flower shop and the delivery boy and Makoto like she's some sort of deity, the _girl at heart_ turned into a full-on saint. Haruka wants to wish for a lot of things. He refrains himself from most of it.

In one last wish, not made by the glow of birthday cakes or falling meteors, because, frankly, he needs to save all the light he can before it goes out, he wishes for the stars to remain in the sky. Enough people have left him—his friends and family, without intention, his grandmother, in death—and he's not sure he can handle another departure. He stares up at his son of suns, who's busy making a prayer of his own, eyes closed and reverent in concentration, and wishes for one more thing. One more miracle.

Makoto finishes and blinks in awareness, sights adjusting to the light of the water below him. Haruka can't help but think how beautiful he looks in this particular instant, the way he sways his head up in a single, smooth motion, green eyes catching light. That smile, sad and sweet and heavy with everything he's seen, juxtaposed together, sketches itself across his face.

Haruka reiterates that last wish. One more thing, one more miracle.

"Haru." Makoto calls as he reaches for Haruka's hand, which the latter takes in looming. Palms press together, slightly more desperate than usual. The heat of his touch shoots up Haruka's wrist and through the nerves of his arm.

"Makoto." Haruka feels like saying right back this time, even though he doesn't need to. Because even though Makoto's right here, mere centimeters away, he gets the strange sense he'll have to learn how to call his name from across dimensions again. Makoto flicks his gaze in apparent understanding of this—maybe he's just read the stammer in Haruka's voice _too_ well, which is probably the likelier case—and steps in closer.

"You know..." Makoto starts without finishing, as the both of them sit down on the boat deck. Oddly, it almost feels like they're in Iwatobi again, sitting like this quietly in the night, and Haruka lets himself pretend that this is the case for a second. He immerses himself _in_ that second, of all the impossibilities beyond it; maybe Makoto will ask what's for dinner tonight, or if they have literature homework due the next day, or some other sort of mundane thing, but Haruka knows, deep, _deep_ down, that he won't. There will be no small talk, because Makoto's smiles are too sad. His silences are much too pronounced.

"Makoto." Haruka calls out again, almost too afraid to say the name at all, but all they can do is move forward.

"You asked me, years ago, if we were running out." Makoto winces up at the decimated cosmos. "Do you remember?"

Haruka remembers. Of course he does.

"And, it's plain to see...that _yeah_ , we are." Makoto tries to smile again, but it ends up looking more broken than anything else when he sighs with it. "I don't think the stars will be here for long."

"How much longer...?" Haruka doesn't dare to complete his question, because that would be admitting defeat, of acknowledging this great change, and the both of them have had a long, long history of avoiding things like that.

" _Do we have_?" Makoto finishes for him.

Haruka nods, but barely out of heaviness. His head is building brick walls, and the sticking cement might as well be gravity itself.

"I don't know...I'm not even sure what's going to happen, when the stars fade out."

"Are you going to leave, too?"

"Haru."

"Will you be able to—"

" _Haru._ " Makoto's voice cracks. The two of them leave each other staring, silence speaking more than anything that's ever been actually said.

"So you don't know?" Haruka asks him next.

Makoto shakes his head. "I don't. I really, _really_ don't." He's breathless at this point, shaking like he's on the verge of sobs. Haruka hates this face more than anything, _hates_ that he has to watch Makoto's mouth form words he can't bear to say, and with this, he forces himself to confront it anyway. Because it's better than no Makoto at all, better than waking up and finding that he's gone away for good, since the stars are the _only_ thing that's keeping them together _at all_ and—

 _No._ Haruka can't let himself dwell on things like this. Like his last fifty days with Makoto in the other world, he has to make the best of their remaining years here, too. With whatever's left, he has to cherish every single bit of him. To love every atom on the surface of his skin, to love his honest, frightened heart.

"Makoto." Haruka is already calling across the eons.

Slowly, breathing into Makoto, Haruka succumbs to the urge to kiss him. He makes it deep, until his lips ache from the press. Makoto doesn't fight him, not even in a single second's worth of hesitation, and lies him down on the floor of the boat to give him one, too.

 _'I love you,'_ is the only thing Haruka hears, resounding in the back of his head and spoken against his ear.

In the darkness, in their anxious, unbridled longings, and under the falling stars—

—with whatever may or may not happen.

_'I will always, always love you.'_

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_Before granny passed, she told me this funny tale._

_(Well, I guess it's not that funny, but it kind of is? Maybe uplifting is the word for it. I don't know.)_

_That when she was having a hard time, and she didn't know where else to turn, she'd always look up, find the full moon when she could've sworn it wasn't, like, it should've been a crescent or just half that day, and know that things were going to be all right._

_She said, for all the times she saw you sad and didn't know what to do, she'd confide and find that same kind of moon. She told me that's when she knew I was coming, and that you wouldn't be alone for much longer._

_It's a nice thought._

_And, well, science says the moon only gets to shine because the sun reflects on it, and the sun's a star too, isn't it?_

_Ah, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I guess I'm just feeling good today._

_After all, the moon is bright and full tonight, and I get to sit side by side, with you._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

Haruka looks over Makoto's shoulder, draping himself over his back after an exhausting day of painting  at the studio. The latter jolts up—flustered and stuttering up calls of _H-Haru—_ and crumbles up his stationery in his possession before realizing what he's done. He keeps it balled up in his hand, bottle of ink spilling on the fabric of his pants in the process, and heaves a giant sigh at the mess of it all.

"What are you doing?" Haruka asks him absentmindedly, sticking a flower secretly in his hair and kissing it for a day's good fortune.

"N-nothing." Makoto answers, defensively.

"You're writing a letter, aren't you?" Leaning over, Haruka reaches for the empty envelope on Makoto's lap. He examines the back of it, noticing the star stickers lined up on the flap's border, before turning it over and reading the name on the cover.

_To my sweetheart._

Haruka sees his life flash before his eyes.

"You're so embarrassing."

"L-listen!" Makoto calls out as his whole body heats up under Haruka's. "You haven't checked your mailbox in eight hundred years—"

"Eight hundred and thirty." Haruka corrects him.

" _Fine._ In eight hundred and thirty years, you haven't checked that mailbox of yours, and this point, I could write _anything_ on my love letters and it wouldn't matter, and I don't even think _sweetheart_ is a big deal anyway—"

"So you were," Haruka interrupts him again, with a snide little laugh against his ear. "Writing me a love letter." He can't help but go red himself, and the static rising up his spine is impossible to explain, because for the eight hundred and thirty years they've been together, he shouldn't feel this way—giddy over love letters, like a first year schoolboy. But he does, and the sensation is certainly _annoying_ , but he doesn't mind the feeling when it comes down to it.

"Haru!"

In response, Haruka just presses a _love letter_ 's worth of kisses against Makoto's neck and relieves his grumbling instantaneously. With a conceding sigh, Makoto turns around for a real kiss by the lips, tumbling to meet him on the bed of gingko leaves, and in the next second, they're writing to each other with the exchange of echoing laughs and soft, springing kisses.

 

★

 

**Candidate #000000000000**

Name: Tachibana Makoto

Other Aliases: _The Son of Suns_

Status: ~~Collected~~ , **Temporary Visa**

Occupation: School teacher, lamp shop owner, part-time florist, swim instructor

Birth Season: Scorpio

TID (Time in Dimension): 846 years

 

Notes and Observations:  Strongly associated with resident Nanase Haruka—they share an apartment above the flower shop he owns. Neighbors call them inseparable.

Likes to frequent the town bakeries, especially for any chocolate flavored items. Has received some complaints from parents for feeding school children too many afternoon snacks. (Note that this is not a serious offense.)

Popular with cats in this dimension, although Tachibana shows slight trepidation with them—theory suggests a bad experience with them in the past.

Has filed for a marriage license with Nanase Haruka—approval pending, does not meet the one-thousand year requirement yet.

Residency status contingent on the falling of stars. Will need further observation once they go extinct.

 

★

 

Under the surge of falling snow, Makoto places the veil of his scarf over Haruka's head and tugs at the sides to bring them closer together. Haruka stares up with a smile, unabashed and still tender after a whole day spent together, all without the interruption of shopkeeping duties or days in the classroom, and Makoto dares to keep it there with a kiss's firm press. With the hearts of his palms sliding up Haruka's face and his fingers still gripped on the scarf fringes, Makoto rings in the new year with continued meetings like this, sweet switched out for something more urgent, clumsily intermingling between adoration and all-encompassment.

Like he's is doing everything he can to hold onto Haruka.

When they separate and Haruka takes in the harsh winter air, he thinks it's certainly an unwelcome change from the plush of Makoto's lips. Like the list Haruka made dozens of lifetimes ago, _the goodbye list by Nanase Haruka,_ Makoto brings out his own and unfolds it in shaking, nervous hands, and takes a deep breath to speak.

"New year's resolutions, for my nine-hundred-and-fiftieth year." Makoto tells him.

"You wrote this?"

Makoto nods. "Resolution number one—I promise to always hand you a towel after you swim in the lake or take a bath."

"Makoto—"

"And to bring you an extra shirt for the _former_ , in case you get the one you were wearing much too wet. Or...if you throw it overboard altogether." Makoto continues on, struggling to read in the dark but trying nonetheless, hiding the page under the umbrella of their close and hanging heads.

"Resolution two—I promise to learn how to make better soups, for the times you get sick and you need to get better. Because even though you say they're just _fine_ , I think you might be lying to me just for my sake and you don't need to do that. So...um, _let's face it—_ you need something a little better than chicken broth and half-raw carrots."

Haruka laughs a little and hides a new smile under his hand.

"And three." Makoto continues, "For three, I promise to wrap you in blankets after every time we...um. _You know,_ because you complain about being cold after and I don't ever want that."

"It's been years, Makoto." Haruka rolls his eyes with a small smirk. "I think you can say it by now."

"Fair point." Makoto laughs nervously. "Okay. Blankets for after every time we... _yeah_."

"Makoto."

"I'm just...private about that sort of stuff."

"We're alone, though."

"You get what I mean."

"All right. Go on."

Clearing his throat with a remnant of a laugh, Makoto tries to find where he's left off and perks up when he does.

"Four, I promise to hug you _reeeally well_ at night, because I don't mean to brag or anything, but I think I'm better than any blanket." Makoto recites, looking closer at his lines. "Oh, I guess that sort of defeats the purpose of three."

"That's okay." Haruka says and he can't help but chuckle again. At this, Makoto sneaks a glance at him, half proud and half awed by the rarity of that gesture. For that one moment their eyes meet again, full of unexpected glee and all things light, they freeze it into their memories and let it drift into nothing shortly after. Grins comes off their faces and Haruka feels the odd urge to tear himself away from it all, looming up to face the pelting snow instead. Following its descent, it turns into grey and ruined slush on the pavement.

"Haru, do you want me to go on?"

Haruka snaps himself out of it and nods _yes_.

_Please do._

" _Five_ —I promise to kiss you every day before I leave the apartment, and again when I come back at night." Makoto scrunches the paper in his hands a little more, because this one seems the hardest for him to say. "In all the fields, under the covers, on the boat, on the shore. Everywhere and anywhere. Because a long time ago, at the bottom of the empty pool, I promised you—"

"A kiss for every star." Haruka says because he's can't help it, losing his breath in the process.

" _A kiss for every star._ " Makoto reiterates. "But the truth is..." After another pause, he folds his list up and puts it in his pocket. "I want to kiss you past that. I want to kiss you for every star that ever was and ever will be. I want," he interrupts himself, clearing his throat, "to promise you even _more_ than that."

"Makoto—"

"I want to be with you forever." Makoto says clearly, _somehow,_ though he's right on the verge of breaking. "And I know, _I know_ we're trying not to think about things like that, and it's not worth worrying over every second, but I can't help it. I'm not ready, Haru—for whatever's at the end. Because I _know_ we're close to it. I just know it."

And with all of this, this storm between the two of them, Makoto tries his hardest not to get swept up and carried away.

"I'm sorry, Haru." He sighs, shaking. "We were just trying to have a nice day, and I don't want to ruin it—"

Haruka takes his scarf and drapes it over Makoto's head next.

"Hey." Haruka scolds him with just that. "Don't apologize."

"I'm sorry—"

" _Makoto_." With the call of his name, Haruka's the one to grab the edges of the scarf this time, meeting Makoto directly by gaze. "It's okay."

But it's not. It never will be.

Under this snow, the sort of type that makes the rest of the world huddle together and fall silent, Haruka raises himself on his toes to kiss Makoto with all that he has nonetheless. He wonders if Makoto can sense his heightened pace of breath, or the way his hands tremble against the cloth—because he's scared, too, _he has to be_ , in times like this. _He has to be,_ when Makoto's resolutions sound like another _goodbye list,_ when the idea of finishing this century feels more uncertain than anything else. _He has to be_ , when Makoto kisses him back like this, slow and sad like he's on the brink of sinking right into the slush below, even when he's been chasing after Haruka all this time. _Time after time._

"I didn't write a list...but, well. Here we go."

"Haru?"

 _"Resolution one._ " Haruka whispers right into Makoto's ear, hidden beneath the itchy wool of his scarf. "I promise to keep looking." He tells him, still raised up by the heels.

_'For you, if you leave.'_

_'For us, to always be together.'_

And as soon as Haruka delivers these reassurances to Makoto, in secret and sure he can't really believe them himself, the clock strikes twelve and the New Year begins. Haruka tells himself to stop lifting his toes, to sink with the snow and accept that they might be nearing the end of things, but he doesn't. As the tears leave Makoto's eyes and Haruka has to be the one to wipe them off, the latter still feels iron in his soles and still keeps himself up anyway.

 

★

 

  _Haru._

_I love you. That's all._

_I just..._ really, really _love you._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

During the summer of their one-thousandth year together, Haruka wakes up in the early morning and still finds Makoto right next to him. They're nested together under the blankets like usual despite the season, because the summers have been cooler and Makoto means to keep his resolutions past a year's end; with this, Haruka presses himself closer against Makoto for a time, forces out all of his restless exhales, and parts from him without disturbance. Partially hidden under the covers, Haruka watches as Makoto's hand flinches by the fingertips, as if reaching for Haruka to come back to him.

Kissing his fingers by the most delicate touch, Haruka watches Makoto settle back into rest.

Haruka finds Makoto's red plaid shirt on the floor and fastens it up to the second-to-last button, rolling the sleeves up halfway and letting them droop just past his elbows. He slips on a clean pair of underwear and a new pair of pants before leaving the room, and flips on the light switch in the hallway before sliding the bedroom door closed. In the darkness, just a sliver of yellow light streams from the hallway, leaving a bit of Makoto's face illuminated in the process.

Running out of the shop, Haruka's not sure where he wants to go this morning. He's been having trouble sleeping again, because all he has are nightmares of Makoto leaving, of him not _being_ there when he wakes up, and for this he needs to tell himself to breathe, _to relax._ When he does this, Haruka slows down his pace down the boardwalk and feels his knees almost give out under him.

"It's fine." Haruka inhales deep and avoids the sky's gaze. "It's fine."

He forces himself to glance up at the sky, _stars or no stars._ For better or for worse. A handful still remain, looking ready to make their descent at any moment.

"It's fine."

If he keeps moving, if he _prepares,_ this will all go smoothly. He'll be ready.

The first stop he makes is the mailboxes—marked with his combination of 23561. Putting in his rarely-used key, he watches as a bundle of letters fall out of the socket upon opening his box. All of them, of course, are sealed with golden star stickers, and Haruka knows instantly where they're from. He picks them up one by one and orders them into a neat file, thinking he'll read Makoto's love letters later. He'll definitely need them, then.

Next, he goes to his publisher and takes back the final copy of his finished picture book. Unceremoniously, he rips out the last two pages of the ending, because he realizes just how much he hates them in the first place, and watches the torn illustrations hit the wind for a second-long expedition. They drag along the pavement after that, and that is where Haruka catches one last glimpse of the rejected scene—he makes out the floorboards of his house in Iwatobi, with pieces of a broken teacup and the limp arm of a boy in a red plaid shirt.

Haruka looks back to the sky.

_If the stars remain, Makoto remains, too._

There can't be more than ten left, at this point.

Haruka sighs deeply and paces back up the boardwalk. In the distance, in front of the flower shop they've come to raise together, Makoto stands out by the storefront. He's looking out at the shore and talking to the stars Haruka can't hear, and at this, he only feels his stomach drop more. Makoto looks pained when he speaks to them, almost like he might be arguing from the way he holds his stiff posture, his raised shoulders, but he doesn't keep it up for long. It's not the same as all the fights he's had with them in the last century. What's left, after a while, is a silent conversation, stares exchanged between a boy and his stars.

Stealing away before Makoto can see him, Haruka makes the executive decision to lie in the fields for a while. Maybe he'll even try to get some more sleep. Maybe he'll open just one of Makoto's love letters, or write a new ending to his book, or pick some flowers for him, or try talking to the stars himself, for _one last time_ —

No.

 _No, no, no_.

Haruka drops down onto the bed of flowers, legs finally giving out under him, and cries onto the petals below. It's the quiet sort, determined not to let the rest of the world hear him, but it aches and presses against him nonetheless. With this, he doesn't move from this place for the whole morning and stays huddled up with his keepsakes.

"It's fine," Haruka convinces himself again in shaky breaths. "It's fine." His system quickly devolves into sobs.

"It's fine."

 _It’s fine,_ if the stars won't make it past the day. _It's fine,_ that Makoto is most likely leaving tonight. _It's fine,_ because Haruka has had one thousand years with Makoto, good and bad and everything in between, and he shouldn't be selfish for any more. It's fine. _Really, it is._ _It's fine,_ because he should be sick of this single, _human_ person after all these years, sick of the way he holds his hands and kisses him good morning and good night, sick of the way he swims with him and says the name gently— _Haru Haru Haru—_ on the boardwalk and under the covers, sick of the way he always, _always_ finds him, _to love him for every single, **god damned** star_ —really, it's fine, because Haruka thinks they've had enough time to finally be together, and he should just count his blessings and let whatever happen, _happen._

It's fine. Really, it is.

Haruka fails to convince himself of this as the first star drops. He feels his heart sink down with it, but he feels its momentary return, its rise, to hurt all over again. 

 

★

 

"There you are."

When Makoto finally finds Haruka lying alone in the fields, he has his fists clenched and eyes closed to the last semblance of sky. He takes a deep breath from his fitful nap, lets Makoto lean down next to him, and watches him fall apart all at once, right into the bed of  _bluebird blossoms_ with reckless abandon. Hands find each other amongst the hidden petals, and the weakened wind picks up and forces them closer together, like they weren't meant for any other way at all.

Makoto presses a light thumb under Haruka's eye, casting away redness and the evidence of past tears. After a thousand summers together, Haruka still can't help but feel embarrassed whenever Makoto finds out about his reddened cheeks and bouts of silent crying, and this particular instance isn't an exception. Haruka rubs at his own eyes with the sleeve of Makoto's red plaid shirt, keeping quiet despite his giant urge to sigh, keeping his face hidden under wary, halfhearted disguises.

 _I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,_ he repeats the words, over and over until they don't sound like words at all.

"I was looking all over for you." Makoto tells him, tucking a bit of hair under Haruka's ear. "Thought you might've run away again."

Wordlessly, Haruka shakes his head and lets himself face Makoto anyway, because time is short and he's not sure when the next star will drop. "I wouldn't," he chokes out, because he'd never go anywhere too far. Not this time.

When he sees the envelopes scattered amongst the blossoms, Makoto finds the will to laugh and kisses Haruka right over the forehead. "Haru," he whispers, right against the softness of his skin, all without parting from him. "You picked up my love letters."

Haruka nods, trying to smile back, but he doesn't try to force it too much. "I figured I should."

"Did...you read any of them yet?" The other boy asks, sounding a bit bashful about them all. Granny used to make fun of the way he blushed whenever he set his pen to paper, and it seems that certain habits are hard to break.

"No."

"Aw, but there's a good one about one of granny's old tales and—"

"I won't." Haruka breathes out, still more upset than anything. "Not until you leave."

_Not until you disappear from me._

" _Haru_." Makoto shakes his head, trying to conjure up rebuttals.

"You know it's true."

I'm not going anywhere—"

"But you are. I know you are," Haruka knows what tonight will bring. "Because I feel it. I've felt it for the longest time." Without looking at the sky, he knows that only a handful of stars remain, and that this only means the end. After precisely a century of preparing himself for this, of not comparing to the last starfall like the dropping of his stomach, he feels it anyway, a million, million times worse.

"It's not like we actually _know_ what's going to happen after this, and we could just keep—"

"Makoto." Haruka pleads with just the name itself. At this, Haruka just pushes against him in a hug and shakes his head against Makoto's chest. In telepathy, honed and flourishing for a whole millennium, the other knows it's a signal to hold Haruka back harder, to help him squeeze every ounce of longing into nothingness—but it doesn't work this time, it _never_ works _anytime,_ because it won't stop Haruka from missing Makoto at every single possible instance.

Because even a thousand years hasn't been enough. No time, no amount of closeness _, will ever be enough_.

Nonetheless, the two of them choose to remain this way, quietly holding onto what's left of their time together. Around them, the wind picks up in urgency and sends a school of petals flying.

"I'll find a way back to you." Makoto tells him, lips brushed against the softest part of his temple. Haruka wonders, for a moment, if it's gotten to the point where Makoto can feel his quickened pulse with just the touch of his laid kisses, as if a thousand years have garnered extraordinary senses.

"I'll keep looking, too," Haruka tells him right back. His voice scratches against the walls of his throat, like he'll never be able to speak again if he tries to keeps talking, but it'd be worth it for Makoto to hear his affirmations. Because even if they have done just fine without the need for spoken, outright word, in their time in Iwatobi and this place of perpetual night, sometimes they find themselves bursting with it at the last possible second.

"I promise," Haruka continues.

The moment after he says this, another star bursts in supernova above them, igniting a series of cosmic-made fireworks. Haruka closes his eyes at the sight of it, shakes his head over and over, and lets Makoto cup his ear softly from the sound. Over the _bangs_ and _crashes_ of the light above them, Haruka only wants to hear Makoto speak his sweet nothings. He's the only thing he wants to hear out of their silence.

"Haru," Makoto calls after some time, "could you look up?"

In one small motion, head guided up by the gentle way Makoto tips his chin upward, Haruka does just that, careful not to let his eyes open for the bursting sky above. He peeks up at the sight of Makoto, and _only_ Makoto for this particular moment in time, and finds that he's just as upset as Haruka is at this point. A few tears dot the corner of his eyes, dreadfully close to falling altogether, but he's trying his best to keep a smile on in spite of it. Letting a garbled little cry leave from his throat, Makoto sets out on his goal to kiss Haruka, breathless and sweet and savoring, as if this could be the last time in a long time, the last time in forever. They part to breathe, but it's not like either one of them have an easy time doing so. They resign themselves to the usual closeness—foreheads touching and eyes locked—until they're meeting over and over in kisses again, past any limits of one _for every star,_ because there just aren't that many to go by anymore.

"Ma...koto." It's the name Haruka could say a million times.

" _Haru._ " This is the name he could hear for another million more.

Another star falls with a whistle and a pop at the end, and Haruka and Makoto flinch into awareness. The former wants to tell himself, _it's fine, it's fine, it's fine,_ because it's the only defense he has at this point, no matter how weak it's been, and no matter how unconvincing it will continue to be.

Another star close to the moon flies across the blackness, dissipating into nothing.

"Haru." Makoto remarks, voice trailing in a weakness Haruka wants to ignore. "You're crying again," he says, like he isn't, too.

"It's fine."

 _Its fine,_ if the stars won't make it past this hour. _It's fine,_ that Makoto is leaving forever. _It's fine,_ because Haruka has had one thousand years with Makoto, good and bad and everything in between, but especially _good,_ and he shouldn't ask for any more. It's fine. _Really, it is._ _It's fine,_ because he should be sick of his boy in the bed, _his little sun—_ someone so miraculously human but spectacular in all of his efforts. Haruka should be sick of every gift Makoto's given him, his kisses, his kaleidoscopes, his love letters, his little laughs. He should be sick of every _single_ way he's said it, whispered or shouted in the fields, _I like you Haru, I want you Haru, I adore you through and through, I love you Haru, really just you, I love you, I love you, **I love you** —_

"I love you, Makoto."

After a thousand years of him, he should be tired of all of this. He should be tired of Makoto.

But he's not. And he never will be.

"I love you too, Haru." Makoto answers back miserably, and Haruka's heart skips a beat when the grasp lightens on his hand. He's the one to fall away first this time, and his breathing slows into something gently strained, like he's battling the sudden urge to fall into a much needed sleep.

 _Pop,_ goes another star, gone away for good.

And another.

And another.

 _And another_.

"Makoto?"

"I'll love you, forever and forever." He tells Haruka, voice almost lost under the summer gust and each crash of a cosmic cannon.

"Makoto!"

And at that moment, at that call of his name, Haruka's mind asks, whirs in rapid thinking, ' _well, hasn't a whole millennium been enough for you?'_

_'Can't you count that as forever?'_

And ever-petulant, as stubborn as the determined stars and the gods themselves, Haruka answers, ' _no, of course not.'_

_'Because I could still be with him a billion more ways.'_

_‘And I could come up with a billion more.’_

"Makoto!" Haruka screams until his voice is hoarse, but Makoto's smiling like he's just seen the most beautiful thing in the universe.

" _Wait_ ," Haruka cries, "wait, please—don't go. _Don't go!"_

"Haru." The way Makoto says his name is so sweet and so sure.

"Not yet," Haruka continues to cry, scrambling around his personal effects, "not yet." Just as another star faces its downfall, Haruka reaches into his pocket and pulls out the last keepsake he had wanted to give Makoto, a memento meant for their one thousandth anniversary together. Trying not to tremble so much, he raises Makoto's limp arm and slips the gold band on his finger, perfectly fit and gleaming even in the little light they have left.

"Not yet," Haruka repeats, like saying this will cause new stars to be born for him, just for the sake of two boys who want to stay together. "Not yet," he mutters, pressing kisses on Makoto's cold fingers.

Too weak to sit up, Makoto can't help but start crying again, smiling all the way through as Haruka keeps kissing the back of his hand, over and over again until he's too breathless to keep going. _Little blue_ just crumbles against him and cries harder than he ever has in his life, in all of his one thousand years here and his seventeen years back home. It's still the quiet kind, sobs sounding like wispy patches of unfinished air, but Makoto can still tell through it all. Of course he can, even when he's on the verge of disappearing.

"I love you, Haru."

Makoto takes the other ring in Haruka's palm and slips it on him, quietly, weakly, but with every intention of forever.

"I will always, always love you."

Hands lace together one more time, like they always have in the past, and Haruka lets himself fall in the fields to kiss him with everything that he has.

"I love you, too." Haruka whispers, like the universe's worst kept secret.

And they stay like this, in their bed of _bluebird blossoms_ and the waning stars above, until Makoto drifts asleep in the bend of the other boy's arm. With eyes never taken off of him, Haruka watches the rise and fall of Makoto's breathing, _in and out, in and out_ , until he's fading and falling and nothing but a half-formed phantom. The ghost of touch remains clasped around Haruka's fingers, their hands held from across different dimensions.

"Until next time?" Makoto asks finally, as the vague line of his smile forms across empty air. He never opens his eyes, but Haruka can still imagine that brilliant green with all the life in the world.

"Next time."

Haruka thinks he's inhaled his finalities when he catches that last view of Makoto, flickering completely out from this world, warmth remaining despite his lack of physical form, smile remaining until the last possible moment. But when he catches his breath, resigned to live on, to reach up and find a new day, Haruka watches one star reach another from opposite ends of the sky, touch by the prongs, and fall down together. The last two do not make a crashing sound, nor do they bloom in a supernova's final light.

Disappearing down the horizon, nothing happens at all. For a moment, Haruka convinces himself he's just seen a sunset, as if the stars will make their momentary return.

Blinding himself to the sky, longing after the boy they've taken with them, Haruka shuts his eyes, pulls himself close, and settles into the fields alone for another endless night. He falls asleep, silent and sore and unaware for the morning to come, and drifts into something dreamless.

 

★

 

_Haru._

_We will meet again._

_As surely as the sun rises._

_-Makoto_

 

★

 

No matter how many hours he's slept, sometimes Haruka will wake up feeling like he needs a million, million more. With eyes kept closed to the world, Haruka huddles to himself closer amongst the _bluebird blossoms,_ finds his head swirling with the aching memory of his little sun, and tells himself to revel a little more. Oddly, the colors of Iwatobi run deeper than anything, and at this Haruka just lets himself remember—

On the back deck of Haruka's house, Makoto leans back, relaxed and ready for a new day.

At the bottom of an empty pool, Makoto kisses Haruka for every star he sees.

Sparklers at half-life burn a lot brighter when they're brought close together, despite the intrusion of falling snow.

Every single thought of Makoto, every vivid recollection, is warm and bright like the sun on Haruka's face, like a million new stars born to fix their weathered seams. Because even if all the old stars die out, the universe has a funny way of keeping itself running, of making new light and connecting whole worlds, near and far. The stars will be okay.

And whether or not Haruka can fully believe it, so will _they,_ too _._

Little blue and his little sun.

With this, Haruka tells himself to open his sore and heavy-lidded eyes. Because he gets the sense, like it's coursing through his veins, that he can't keep them closed forever. That he'll never get to face Makoto again, if he doesn't dare to face the oncoming day.

So, on the count of _one, two, three_ , Haruka opens his eyes. _Little blue and his little sun_. The sight of this is more splendid than he could've ever imagined.

A brand new blue sky reigns over the dimension, and the sun hangs high across the day's expanse. In this crown of light, surely blinding to the people below it, Haruka makes out the light of their first star, determined to thrive and create a constant miracle.

Because if the stars remain, _and they always, always will,_ Makoto will remain, too _._

So Haruka sits up in the still-thriving flowers, smiles at the signs of new life, rolls up the sleeves of the red plaid shirt, and stands up to gather all of Makoto's love letters. With his unfinished picture book tucked under his arm, Haruka feels his knees shake under him when he lets the breeze push him forward, and overhead, the sun's beams call after the blue eyed boy to follow, gentle yet tugging in their call. 

He opens Makoto's first letter, unfolds the paper with careful, shaking hands, and makes his way down the fields. To wherever the cosmos might bring him next, towards any new planet or star or far-flung dimension.

Because he will find his way back to forever—

—towards _Haruka and Makoto,_ to be togetherpast the end of time. 

 

 

 

★

 

★

 

★

 

 

 

**_Love is the Last Thing_ **

**_by Nanase Haruka_ **

 

_**(to the boy in the bed—** _

_**may I always get to kiss you for every single star.)** _

In a small seaside town, there once lived a boy who could not love. Well, it was not that he _couldn't_ love, but more that he chose to live without it—because when he was young, the gods put a pesky spell on him and said to him, "if you ever fall into it, you'll disappear." So, in not wanting to vanish from existence, this little blue eyed boy determined not to let love in. He rejected every love letter that came his way, and ignored all his confessors.

Of all the walls built around him, as to never let any affections seep in, one person he never thought to keep out was his best friend, a boy of undeniable light. Like a fireplace on a cold winter's day, this little sun had proven his warmth time and time again, and the blue eyed boy sought to keep him, cautiously, in his heart. Intertwined since the earliest part of childhood, the two of them moved along in life, comfortably and easily, like two wave crests reaching the same summer shore.

But little did he know, in letting his best friend share in his life, that he was letting love in past those walls. It was blooming—covertly, _inevitably,_ like a secret field of wildflowers _._

The blue eyed boy did not want to believe any of it, despite the warnings from cosmic messengers and the signal of starless skies. Inside classrooms and on stony steps, he continued to wage his quiet war. He told himself, _"Love is the last thing I want,"_ and charged in, only to meet his enemy with kisses every time. He lost all of his battles this way, and his defeat was sure at this point.

But you see, this other child, this boy of complete warmth, never, ever left his side. Even when the blue eyed boy waged war against him, this little sun never raised any of his own weapons. With hands held, they navigated his turmoil together and fought off every incoming nightmare, belligerent god, and instance of forgetting. Little sun showed the blue eyed boy lost stars and undeniable light and created—for him—this brand new universe.

After all of his kindness, his spirit, the blue eyed boy could not deny it anymore. He was in love with his boy of light, and for that, he was going to disappear off the face of the earth. He would not fight it.

And that was what he did. Nothing could be done. Despite how much the two of them fought together, despite the deals made and made again, it was always meant to happen.

Love was the only thing he carried, to the other world.

So the blue eyed boy went to live in the place of perpetual night, alone and scared. His senses were dulled and he resigned to live on in the darkness, because in here, he knew he could not find another. He would never be able to find another _little sun._ He cried and screamed at the empty night at this, cursing the fates for never keeping them together. He did not know, in all of his desperation, that the other was already on his way home.

Because you see, this other child, this boy of complete warmth, never, ever stopped looking for him.

They were reunited at the start of summer, under a sky full of impossible stars. With hands held, once again intertwined, they navigated this new dimension and watched the whole universe fall to keep his _little sun_ here. For the next one thousand years, they loved and loved and _loved some more_ , because it was the only thing they could do before another inevitable separation. They promised to love each other past the end, to always find each other despite the distance.

With this, the blue eyed boy watched his last star fall during their one-thousandth year together. His first and only love had gone too, shortly after. Little blue cried himself to sleep in the fields where they usually lay, and in all his devastation, he could not face the impending day.

But you see, this departed child, in all of his warmth and unwavering love, left the blue eyed boy the dimension's first sun. Daylight had broken through the night and created blinding, blinding warmth. Even the gods were in awe of it. In this miracle, the blue eyed boy rose up from his slumber, rubbed the redness from his war-worn eyes, and followed the beams out of this place. He reached and reached, until he was sure he could find the will to grab onto this daylight star himself.

He reached and reached, and _walked and walked,_ until he could find home again. Until he could find his little sun, nestled in the city crowd and lost as lost could be.

And that is what he did.

"I found you," he told his boy of immaculate warmth.

And with hands held like a law of nature, never, _ever_ to let go again, the boy made himself another promise, one to keep like an oath for several infinities.

 

_'Please stay in love with me.'_

_'In this world or the next.'_

_'Because I will always, always love you.'_

_'For forever and all time.'_

 

★★

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, at the very, very end. I hope it's been as fun a journey as it was for me to write, and that it ended in a way in tune with this fic. I really wanted to focus on a theme of leaving and departures through and through, and really tried to explore every kind I could think of. Running away, disappearing, planned trips, departures you think you'll be able to plan and prepare for (but they backfire on you anyway.) I hope I was able to expand on all of this, even up to the very, very end. I think my overall message is that...well, sometimes departures are inevitable. A lot of the time, they're scary and terrible and they ache like no one's business, but love will remain either way. It will find a way? (I'm just getting mushy and gross because makoharu does that to me, I guess...ha.)
> 
> I wanted something bittersweet by the end, leaning towards the sweet side. (It's up to you, whether or not Haru really found Makoto at the end, because it is his story, but I'd like to say yes, he did.)
> 
> ANYWAY. I'd also like to thank everyone for reading and staying along with this fic all this time. It's been frustrating and exciting and probably my most favorite project to date! (I can't believe I surpassed 100k too...ridiculous.) 
> 
> Also, as usual, please check out the wonderful AMAZING [**beautiful fic art**](http://companions.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-art) which I'm awfully thankful for at every turn ;_____;
> 
> Here are some great playlists as well ([1](http://8tracks.com/sakura-walker/c-o-n-s-t-e-l-l-a-t-i-o-n-s) , [2](http://8tracks.com/allhailthebeeperking/nearly-star-crossed) , [3](http://8tracks.com/makoyann/don-t-let-go))
> 
> Well, I guess this is where I bid you all goodbye! Please find me on @asplendidmoon on twitter or companions.tumblr.com :^)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This is The Way I Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159686) by [erdaenos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erdaenos/pseuds/erdaenos)
  * [Stars Will Guide You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456860) by [holyshitbatman (dhlgraphics)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhlgraphics/pseuds/holyshitbatman)




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